Taking Chances
by Skull Daddy
Summary: After a drunken one-night stand with each other, Vito develops feelings for Joe, which he doesn't return. When he runs to Henry for advice, a love triangle is developed, which causes internal conflicts later on. (Rated MA for adult content, such as sex, drugs/alcohol, profanity and violence. Contains m/m action.) (Co-written with Ponylove.)
1. Chapter 1 - One Hell of a Night

Chapter One  
>ONE HELL OF A NIGHT<br>Villa Scaletta – JUNE 22nd, 1951

Friday afternoon, reckless drivers filled the streets, the ones who were on their way from their clock-punching jobs to get to happy hour at the local bars. After that, who knows, those same clock-punchers will return home to their wives and kids, maybe take the low road and swing over to a cat-house. It seemed like the majority of the world was full of the same type of people; hard workers who stared at their shoes as they walked to their destinations, keeping their noses out of hairy business.

On the other hand, there was me. Nobody knew the kind of shit I did, all I knew was that I was making dough, kicking ass, popping caps and taking names. I deserved the rest of my Friday to relax.

I owned a nice villa in the suburbs, kudos to my pal, Joe Barbaro. He knew how to book me good places to crash. I just hoped this place would be the last place I would have to live. It almost seems like in the past, I had to keep moving back and forth, jumping from one apartment to another motel. Nonetheless, I got my money's worth working in the mafia. Hairy business, but it all paid off.

Kicking my feet up, I decided to have myself a hot cup of Joe and read the papers. As a gift for my birthday a while ago, Henry got me a television. I never understood why he brought it, considering I'm more of a radio and newspaper kind of person. I guess the poor guy's money was burning a hole in his pocket at the time, and he just needed some release.

I was about to take a sip of my hot cup of Joe, but my attention was directed to the shrill sound of the telephone, which sat beside me on the coffee table. Setting the mug down, I answered it.

"Vito Scaletta speaking," I began. Speaking of Joe, the son of a bitch decided to call me when I finally had a leisurely afternoon to myself.

"Hey, Vito," Joe spoke, "I need ya to swing by my place. Those two gorgeous broads are here, and tonight they're lookin' to party a little harder. I don't think I can handle 'em on my own. Care to pitch in?"

"Thanks for the offer, Joe," I answered, "but a brothel isn't on my evening agenda tonight. I'll have to pass up on this one."

"Come on, Vito! Quit bustin' my balls!" Joe's tone sounded slurred. He had obviously been drinking. If I decided to go, he would probably be worse by the time I would arrive. However, that wasn't the case. I wasn't going, as far as I knew.

"You gotta dust that thing off, Vito," Joe continued. "When's the last time you've had any?"

Before I could answer, I heard the faint sound of two women in the background. The first voice sounded familiar. The redhead kept hitting on me. She was the one I had to defend when this one prick rear-ended her, so I had to drop his sorry ass. If she was there, then I guess it wouldn't be so bad.

"That redheaded broad can't stop talkin' about you, Vito!" Joe exclaimed. "She's gonna walk out of you don't come."

"Ah, fine," I groaned, folding my newspaper and placing it at the foot of my sofa, "I suppose one night is fine. But she'd better not expect any more outta me."

"She just might, if you do 'er good enough!"

"Anyways, I'm on my way," I added before hanging up. I remapped my main intentions in my head, figuring that tonight wouldn't be the night to read the papers and drink coffee. What I'm gonna do is go over there, hang with Joe, maybe have a few cold ones, talk to the redhead a little bit, then leave. I wasn't particularly in the partying kind of mood tonight. But if it shut Joe up, then hey, what harm could be done?

I soon arrived to Joe's in a decent set of wheels. I wasn't about to drive my best car to Joe's just for a lousy brothel, especially one that I wasn't going to partake in. It was just a temporary visit. I'm going to go in, stay for an hour, then book it.

I parked my car in Joe's garage, where bunches of older cars of mine were parked. He never gave me any shit for my other cars anyway. His garage was mine too, to say the least.

I made my way through the door, which lead up a spiraling, never-ending vortex of staircases. I passed the old hag in the hallway, and then made my way to the right of the staircase and into the hallway where Joe's door was on the end.

I stood in front of Joe's door for a brief second, raising my fist to the wood, ready to knock. Before my knuckles could make contact with the wood, the door opened right up, and I was greeted with an already half-naked Joe, who smelled of cigarettes, booze, and cheap perfume. His hair was disheveled, which meant he had probably already shagged quite a few times in the interval from me leaving my house to arriving at his door.

"Hey, Vito!" Joe greeted, throwing a welcoming hug at me. I stood stifled for a moment before returning a lighter hug.

"It's good to see you!" he chimed, pulling away and leading me into his apartment. The moment he shut the door, I was immediately greeted with the two broads. The redhead walked up to me, that sly grin slicked across her face like the last time. She raised her hand to my cheek, the gloved knuckles diligently grazing my skin. Her gaze met with mine, and my eyes were locked with her sharp, green hues.

"We're gonna party hard tonight, hun," she purred. She may have looked appetizing on the outside, but her breath smelled just the same as Joe's, only the amount of perfume that caked her skin was uncanny.

"Christ, you smell like a French whore!" Joe boasted as he passed her. "Wash up for Vito, will ya? I don't pay ya to smell like a fuckin' cologne factory."

Before the redhead could protest, I piped up. "Nah, Joe. It's fine. I'm just gonna stay for an hour, have a few drinks, then hit the road."

Joe was clearly baffled when I said that, because he turned around and looked me square in the face with intense disappointment. Of course, who wouldn't be?

"Vito!" Joe whined, "I got booze, broads, blues, the whole nine yards! An hour with ALL this? Are you turnin' into a rookie on me?"

Joe had a way with words, however, I stuck to my plan.

"I have a few things to take care of at home," I replied. "I've got some chores that need to be done."

"I'll hire a fuckin' maid for ya!" he added, giving me a firm but playful slap on the shoulder. "Now, come on, let's show these girls what a good time is."

I hesitantly sat on the sofa, which was beginning to get a little sunken in. I know he brought new furniture, but the time this man spends sitting on his ass with a hooker in his lap is unbelievable. Nevertheless, I tried to get comfortable. I knew Joe would come up with any sort of excuse to keep me here for more than my intended time, so I assumed this would be a long night.

The entire time, Joe drank and smoked while the Spanish broad was all over him in the kitchen. They seemed to really be hitting it off well, to my surprise. The redhead did the same to me, only I didn't give her entirely what she wanted. I gave her attention, yes, but nothing beyond that. She felt me up, but I refused to to the same to her. Again, I wasn't in the fucking mood.

Soon after, Joe came out of the kitchen with a bottle of brandy. He plopped down on the cushion next to me, cracking open the bottle. The Spanish broad sat on the sofa love seat across from us, and her redheaded friend departed from the sofa and moved to sit next to her friend.

"Ah, for just the occasion!" Joe chimed before pouring each and every one of us a glass. He added a little more to my glass, considering I hadn't had much to begin with. I was about to protest, but I didn't want to break the poor schmuck's pride. I finally decided to fuck it all and drink the Brandy. What was the worst that could happen?

I tossed back the glass, feeling the warmth of the brandy rush down my esophagus, into my stomach, and course throughout my bloodstream. I felt a shiver shoot through my spine. The first glass was always the toughest one to take, but I would eventually get my sea legs.

"Whaddaya think, Vito?" Joe asked, "izzat _not_ the best damn brandy you've evah tasted in yer life?"

I licked my top lip and set the glass down. It was still halfway full, but I wasn't about to slam the whole damn thing. "Pretty fuckin' good," I replied.

"Want s'more?" he asked, lifting the bottle. I was about to say no until he tipped it over and poured more brandy into my glass. I sighed. Yup, this was gonna be a long night, followed by what could possibly be a raging headache in the morning. I'll admit, a good buzz was starting to creep up on me, but with that kind of brandy, I should be in for one hell of a surprise.

While the two broads sat across from us, whispering to one another, a very shit-faced Joe patted me on the shoulder. He leaned in uncomfortably close, his hand firmly planted. I happened to get a good look at his eyes. Definitely starting to become glazed.

"H-Hey Vito..." Joe began, wobbling slightly, "Ya wanna see s'mthin' crazy...?"

"Uh, sure?" I answered, though I didn't really want to see what he had to show me.

"Ay, you to broads!" Joe piped up, "I need you two to do me a lil' favor."

"What would that be, Joey-boy?" the redhead asked, clearly interested in what he had to accomplish.

"I need you two bitches to make out with each otha'..." Joe answered, pointing to the redhead. "You, and the Spaniard."

I was bewildered. Those two _women_, making out with _each other_? In this day and age, that was considered taboo. I didn't know what to think at this point. Of course, who was I to judge what kind of crazy shit Joe was into?

"What's in it for _us_, Joey-boy?" the redhead asked once more, her gaze fixed over to me. I leaned over to retrieve my drink, then sat back against the sofa. I took a sip of my brandy, the taste finally settling into my tongue. In sipping my drink, I pretended that I didn't hear her ask that question, nor feel the broad's eyes on me.

"Whaddaya mean, _innit for you_?" Joe asked, standing up clumsily. "I don't pay ya tah sit around on yer ass 'n do nothin'!"

"It's not like we were gonna do _nothing_," the redhead piped up, "but you're gonna need to do somethin' for _us_ first." She and the Spanish broad stared at Joe and I, then back at each other to exchange sly glances.

I did not like where this was going.

Joe, clearly confused, looked back at me, then back at the two broads on the couch. I started to wonder if he was really confused or just beginning to realize what the fuck was going on. It was until I put my drink down, Joe finally came to his senses.

"Fine, whaddaya want us to do?" Joe asked. "Me 'n Vito will do _anything_ if ya just kiss each otha' a lil bit."

Joe. Joe, shut the fuck up.

"Hmm... anything, stud?" the redhead asked, rubbing her chin, pensive in thought.

God fuckin' damn it, Joe.

The Spanish broad leaned into her friend and whispered in her ear. The redhead grinned slyly as she glanced over at me. In return, I looked away, scratching the back of my head, once more pretending she wasn't there. Joe sat down, grunting upon doing so. He watched the two women intently, his drunken gaze fixed upon their every move.

"We'll kiss," the redhead finally spoke, "only if you and your little friend over there do it too."

Shit.

Joe turned his head to look at me. Now his drunken gaze was fixed upon my every move. He inhaled lazily before shaking his head.

"Only if it's a'wright wit'chu Vito," Joe uttered.

I shook my head before lifting my glass of brandy to my lips. I needed to keep my hands occupied as I felt the pressure closing in on me. Once the warm, bittersweet beverage entered my system, I exhaled, shaking my head.

"No can d—" But, I was cut off.

"How about this," the redhead began, "We'll make a little deal. My friend and I here will kiss, then you'll have to do the same, and we'll progress to body rubbing, and maybe even fuck each other right in front of you, give you a party to remember. Deal?"

Joe groaned, running his pudgy fingers through his thick, disheveled hair. If this asshole says yes, I'm gonna walk out the fucking door. I may be lit, but I'm not lit enough for this shit.

"Awright, awright," Joe belched. "Show us whatchya got, girls!" He was acting a little to exuberant about this ordeal. I'm not sure if it went through his thick skull, but in order to get the two hookers to to our bidding, he and I would have to… no, no, I ain't gonna think like that. I'm not into dudes, and even if I was, I'd never pick Joe. Even if my life depended on it. If I was at the crossroads of life and death, I would put a bullet in my brain right then and there and take the road to death. That's how committed I am to _not_ having sex with Joe.

I looked out the corner of my eye to catch a glimpse of the redhead putting the moves on the Spaniard. Both their soft lips connected, and the two were kissing right in front of us. No tongue, though, but they held that kiss for quite some time. It was interesting, but not the least bit impressive.

On the flip side, Joe had the impression he was at a fucking concert. He was in awe at just the sight of two girls sharing a kiss.

Once the kiss was broken between the two, the redhead glanced over at us, her Spanish friend giggling intently. I knew what she was giggling about, and I was about ready to smack that fucking grin off her face.

"Your turn, Joey-boy," she began, her sharp green eyes darting from Joe, then over to me. I grew stiff. I wanted to get outta here. Just run away from this bullshit. But the only thing stopping me was this looming cloud of intense drunkenness that hung over me. There was no way I could peel myself off the couch on my own, and there was _certainly_ no way that anyone was about to help me.

"You two gonna kiss or what?" the redhead asked. "If you don't, we're gonna hit the road."

"Awright, jeez…" Joe stammered. My body tensed up, my eyes shutting tightly. Soon, Joe took a hold of me with his strong, but clumsy hands, pulling my disagreeing body towards him before grabbing my face and planting his wet, messy lips against mine. I grunted, trying to pull away, but his strong hold kept me pinioned. What made matters worse was that Joe kissed me open-mouthed, extending his tongue into my throat. I hated this. I hated how Joe's slippery tongue entered my mouth, how his breath and saliva tasted, which was a combination of brandy, cigarettes, and possibly even nachos. How his saliva was exchanged with mine was revolting, and I wanted it to end.

Within earshot, I could hear the two broads chuckling. Great, something more to be pissed about.

Then I realized that Joe proceeded to squirm and swirl his tongue around in my mouth, causing me to bite down aggressively on it. Emitting a soft yelp, Joe pulled away, finally letting me go. I coughed, wiping my tongue with the back of my sleeve, nearly gagging. That almost caused me to vomit all the contents of my stomach, hell, maybe even last week's worth of food would probably come out too.

Joe, on the other hand, was not phased by what he just did. The son of a bitch was so hammered, he felt no guilt for what he just did. His only objective was to get the two girls to fuck, even if it meant he and I would have to get unbearably close to that stage, which I was not about to let happen. Unless, it turned out not to be _my_ choice in the end.

"Your move, ya filthy whores," Joe added eagerly. "Now, I want'ya tah rub each otha', feel each otha' up, grab each otha's tits 'n asses… the works!"

The two broads stared at one another, and I knew this wasn't gonna be good. Well, not for me perhaps.

They proceeded to feel each other up, the redhead's gloved hands sliding along the Spanish broad's back, making their way to her bare ass, which she groped pleasingly. The Spaniard slid her bare hands up and over the redhead's voluptuous breasts, giving them a good caressing and massaging. I have to admit, it was now getting somewhat pleasing, only to the eye of course. This was different. Hell, it was somethin'. But, not enough.

In the midst of it all, I realized that if I wanted more, I'd have to give them more. Just my fucking luck.

When the two were done, I felt that same dread return, only it was dulled by my intoxication. At this point, I wasn't sure if letting Joe have his way with me was worth just getting small peep shows from the girls.

"Now, it's our turn, Vito…" Joe murmured, leaning over to take hold of me with those strong hands again.

"No," I sighed, trying to push away, "can't… no…" It was no fucking use.

Joe wrapped his arms around my torso, pulling me close. I turned my head away to avoid his heavy breathing. Upon breathing heavily, he emit this god awful stench, which smelled the same as the taste in my mouth from that kiss.

Joe grazed his fat hands down my thighs, causing me to shutter. Then, they made their way up my thighs, slowly snaking their way to my ass, which he squeezed firmly with both hands. My back arched, spine tingling. When my body arched, I unexpectedly pushed myself inwards towards Joe, who's lips were right by my ear at that point.

"Touch me, Vito," he whispered, "give'm what they want…"

"No fuckin' way!" I whispered back, before retching as Joe squeezed and fondled my asscheeks through my pants.

"Relax, Vito, _relax_…" Joe breathed against my ear in a comforting tone. "Do it for the ladies…"

Making myself useful, knowing that resisting wasn't going to make matters better, slid my hands down Joe's chest, and in a half-minded manner proceeded to grope his squishy pectorals. They were saggy indeed, but they did not come even a mile close to feeling like a woman's breasts.

Joe continued to caress me, as I fondled his unsightly pectorals. I felt an unwanted heat rise into my face, and when such happened, the two girls giggled from across the coffee table. Only this time, their giggles weren't of arousal, but more of amusement. Wait, were they _laughing_ at us?!

Joe pulled away, and when I did, I immediately wiped my hands across my lap. His chest was sweaty, in fact most of his body was. I wondered how much sweat, or fluids overall, this guy could produce. On second thought, I don't wanna know.

"Joey-boy," the redhead chuckled, "it seems like you made your little friend pitch a tent!"

Pitch a tent? I looked down, and… well lo and fucking behold, Joe had given me a hard-on. This was like no other hard on I've experienced either. This was a rock-solid, about to burst through my pants kind of hard-on. I wasn't aware my dick could get this solid. How was this scientifically possible? And above all, why was Joe fuckin' Barbaro the one to give it to me?!

I glanced over and noticed that Joe was experiencing the exact same thing. Fuckin' pig. And the worse part was that he looked completely content about it, ready to dive in for some more fun. Does this man have no fuckin' shame?!

"Sorry 'bout that, ladies," Joe smirked, "You two're really putt'n on a show."

Then I realized that his hard-on wasn't from the two hookers sitting on sofa across from us. If that was the case, he would've gotten one from the second they kissed. I wanted to blame the alcohol. Yeah, that was it. It was the alcohol's fault… right?

The girls, on the other hand, were clearly intrigued by the show that Joe and I were putting on.

"Oh, _we're_ not the ones putting on a show," the redhead smirked, "it's you two who are."

"Shut th' fuck up…" I muttered. Oh great, I was starting to talk like Joe. I can't remember the last time I got shit-faced. I normally didn't get this way, considering I preferred to keep my head on my shoulders. If I didn't have my head on my shoulders, I had no clear control over myself, and that was a fucking problem. This whole ordeal was a fucking problem.

The whores on the other side began to laugh at me. Did I really sound _that_ shitfaced? How would I know? I was too shitfaced to hear how shitfaced I was.

"C'mon, Joey-boy," the hooker begged, "show us a lil' more of what'chu got!"

"Oh, hah hah hah…" Joe chuckled, grabbing my half-full glass of brandy and swigging it. I wasn't about to finish it anyway, so there were no objections from me.

"You two ladies wanna show?" Joe asked, slamming the glass down on a coaster. "Then we're g'nna give ya a show!"

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

"Your lil' friend looks lonely ovah there," the redhead smirked, "Give 'im some love, Joey, then maybe _we'll _give you some!" She looked over at the other hooker, both of them simultaneously giggling.

If Joe even thinks about laying another hand on me, I swear on my own deadbeat father's grave that I'll muster up every ounce of strength I have, and I'll walk right out the fucking door.

That's when I felt Joe's hand snake up my thigh. I felt a shock pulse through my muscle, giving a jolt, but the sensation from where Joe's hand sat went up through my thigh and into my pelvis and groin, strengthening the confusing arousal that was stirring within me.

Grimacing, I forced myself to turn my gaze over to Joe, only to be met with him staring, drunk, into my eyes. I couldn't help but to meet my own eyes with his. Upon the glance, I noticed that Joe's eyes were completely glazed, dark bags encircling his lower eyelids. His hair was extremely disheveled, and what made matters worse was that he was facing directly towards me, breathing heavily with his mouth open. I could smell the stench of his breath from just a foot away. Was this asshole really getting his rocks off from this, or was it just a show? All I know was that he'd do anything to have two busty hookers feel each other up, but it was hard to believe that he'd go to this kind of extent.

"What're ya waiting for, Joey-boy?" the hooker egged on. "Do somethin'! Don't just stare at 'im!"

I pulled away, my head reeling, but once more Joe advanced towards me. I was cornered within the back and the arm of the couch, thus stopping me to inch away any further. I was too fucked up to even leap from the couch and run away. Especially with an unwanted hard-on. If this had happened from the start, I would've left in a single heartbeat. I had a horrible feeling in my gut, and I don't think it was the alcohol that was stopping me from escaping. Yeah, I was knocked on my ass, but there was also this feeling of odd, fucked up curiosity, and that one question I had most dreaded from the start came to mind:

Do I really want this?

Nah, nah, I _can't_want this. I should _not_ want this. This was fucked up, immortal, this was… gonna be with _Joe._

And that's what stopped me from moving.

Joe took hold of me with those strong hands again, and this time instead of being in pain, I experienced the sickly sensation of wanting more. He pulled me close, bringing one hand to the small of my back, arching it, the other hand grasping my leg, pulling my bottom half inwards. When our bodies touched, I felt a small shock in my lower regions. Without having to look down, I could make out what felt like Joe's rod making contact with my own. What more was that my jeans were starting to kill me. I needed to release it, but sure as hell not in front of everyone in the room.

Joe had the advantage. He wore his white tank top and boxers from the beginning, which would allow him to easily utilize movement and comfort. I envied him, but at the same time, wanted this over with.

Still, the pain was beginning to become unbearable. Joe wasn't making it easier on me. He buried his face in the nape of my neck, planting wet kisses along me burning flesh. I grasped his shoulders, trying to find the strength to push him away, but once more, my muscles went limp, and the only things I felt were the reeling motions in my head, the pattern of our heartbeats, the heat rising in my face, and the pulsating pain in my lower regions that needed releasing.

Joe managed to find every sweet spot on my neck. It was torture, but god damn. Word on the street was that he was good in bed, only metaphorically, since it seemed like he was always fucking on the couch. As big of an oaf as he appeared, I started to believe the rumors. Though this was only the tip of the iceberg. What more was there to come?

Wait, wait no! Fuck! I gotta stop thinking like that! This was _Joe_, my long-time fucking friend! I did business with him, we kicked ass together, there was no way in the flesh-hole of Hell that I was gonna sleep with him! How the ever-loving fuck did we end up here?!

Joe's hand crept up my thigh, making its way up my torso and towards my chest, where he proceeded to unbutton my shirt, clumsily fondling the buttons before my shirt was completely undone.

He finally relaxed his muscles enough to release me, thus pulling away. Clumsily, I bumped into the arm of the couch, now in a slouched position. Having now been vulnerable, Joe pulled my shirt open, exposing my bare torso. He leaned over and started to kiss my abdomen, sending odd shivers through my nerves. My abs flexed and twitched involuntarily, my breathing becoming heavy, just like Joe's. Not only did he plant kisses on my stomach, but his moist, warm breath served to contribute to the dual-pleasure. While he went to town on my abdomen, he gradually slid his hands up and down my sides before caressing my hips. He was sure to have seen my dick trying to prod its way through my trousers. It felt that apparent.

I grasped the arm of the sofa with one hand, the other taking a fistful of Joe's hair. I proceeded to massage his thick scalp as he grazed his lips against my torso. My head was tilted back, heavy breaths escaping my lips. I could feel my pelvis tighten, and my hips rise and fall with the steady rhythm of our breathing patterns. Then suddenly, with no self-control at all, I uttered some rather embarrassing words beneath my breath.

"Fuck'n, fuck… Joe," I breathed, "Just… come on… fuck… fuck me already… you asshole…"

Shit. He was sure not to hear that, but my perception of hearing was muffled, due to intoxication.

Joe seized the kisses and crawled on top of me. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes, beads of sweat forming above his brow. I felt that same tingling heat return to my cheeks, and looked away, avoiding any and all eye contact. It's not like he _completely_ turned me on. He reeked of booze, sweat and cigarettes. This could've been a turn-off to anyone, I mean, why wouldn't it be?

"Wha'wazzat, Vito?" Joe asked, a wide, stupid grin on his face.

I pouted, my cheeks becoming more flushed. There was no way in the deepest depths of Hell that I was about to repeat something said in the heat of the moment.

With that, Joe cupped his hand over my throbbing hard-on, causing me to jolt. Christ, it was starting hurt like a bitch.

"C'mon, Vito…" Joe smirked, his hand rubbing my cock through the denim of my jeans.

"Fuck'n tease…" I muttered through grit teeth.

"Before that?" Joe asked, groping my shaft just enough to cause me to hiss through grit teeth. My back arched, beads of sweat forming above my brow. This was un-fucking-bearable. I didn't wanna say it, but I needed release.

"I said… _fuck me_…" I muttered a little louder, "…_now."_

"Ya want sum'ma this, Vito?" Joe asked before wedging himself between my legs, humping me. This caused my groin to bump against his, adding shock waves throughout my pelvic region.

"Yeah, ya fuckin' retard…!" I growled, my hips slowly bucking.

"Say it, Vito," Joe chuckled, clutching my face with his pudgy hands, "Tell me that'cha want me."

"I fuck'n want you, now fuck me already!" I declared this rather loudly, but my ability to care grew rather narrow. After this was over, Joe and I would never speak about the night again. We'd continue with our normal fucking lives like this all never happened.

After Joe unbuttoned my fly, he took the zipper head of my jeans and graciously slid it downwards, giving me partial release, only now my underwear was the only thing constricting me. I bit my lip in embarrassment as he pulled the fabric back. I sighed, tipping my head back as it was finally unleashed.

Joe took one look at it, before cracking a smile. "Hah, I'm still _bigger_ than ya!" With that, he pulled off his boxers to release his own packing equipment. And there he was, Joe in all his glory.

I took a glimpse at it, and instead of flinching at its formidable size, I sighed happily, a sinful craving stirring in the back of my mind. Christ, I had no idea how much I wanted this. I wanted all of it. Every square inch of it.

"Joe…" I sighed, "I need you…"

With a grunt of pleasure, Joe proceeded to pull my pants off. He was rather clumsy, but he got them off, along with my boxers. All I was wearing now were my socks, opened shirt and leather jacket. He only wore his partially sweaty tank top. It was going to be drenched by the time we were done.

Joe asserted the rest of his dominance by hoisting up my legs while I was on my back. I wasn't aware of how this was supposed to work. I wasn't a lady, so it'd be next to impossible for Joe to fuck me like one. Knowing him, he had his ways.

"Ah, shit…" Joe paused. "I forgot'cha can't get wet like pussy…"

"Th'fuck're you talk'n about…?" I asked, wiping the sweat away from my forehead with the back of my had.

"I need t'slick you up…" Joe continued, reaching over my head for the olive oil that he had on the table next to the arm of the chair. Why he had olive oil just sitting there out in the open was beyond me.

"You're not usin' that, are ya…?" I asked tiredly, pointing at the bottle of olive oil.

Joe poured a modest amount onto his hand, proceeding to slick up his fingers. "Jus' relax, Vito… you ain't gonna feel a thing…"

With that, Joe pried my legs apart, and once he did, he slid his hand between my asscheeks and stuck an olive oil-covered finger into my asshole.

I arched my back and clenched, grasping the cushions.

"What th'FUCK—?!" I jolted. Regardless of my reaction, Joe just continued to slide the damn finger in. I grit my teeth, feeling unpleasant down there. What the fuck did he think he was doing?

"That's not what my asshole is used for!" I objected.

"Relax, Vito, re_lax_," Joe assured, sliding his finger in and out slowly. I could feel my bottom half vibrating with awkwardness.

"Cut that shit out—!"

"You jus' gotta relax 'n get used to it is all…" he assured me once more. I grit my teeth before relaxing my asscheeks. It still felt unpleasant, but Joe managed another oily finger in, which didn't feel any better than before. But once that second finger was in, I was actually starting to feel glad that he inserted the first one, or else this would have felt horrible. With the two fingers in, he proceeded to massage my inner walls, which got me used to the sensation. Still, it felt anything but _good_. It still felt like fingers up my ass.

"How do'zzat feel, Vito?" Joe asked.

"Not that great," I admitted. Is this how it's supposed to feel?

With that, Joe smirked before prodding around some more. After fishing a little deeper, risking more discomfort on my part, he finally found _it, _and _it_flipped off in me like a switch. Before I knew it, there was a tingle, and a burst of electricity through my pelvis. Those fingers now felt like heaven.

"Fuck—" I groaned, my knuckles turning white from grasping the cushions intensely. "Shit, Joe… your fingers are fuck'n magic…"

Joe let out a dry chuckle, clearly pleased that he was able to draw such a reaction out of me.

"Ready for me t'give it to ya now, Vito?" he asked, pouring another amount of olive oil onto his hand. I nodded in response, and with that, he slicked up his shaft. I watched him go about it contently, oddly humored by such a simple act.

As I was still on my back, Joe went for take two and hoisted my legs up once more. He dipped his arms under my knees, bringing my legs back to expose my slicked up opening. His upper body loomed right over me, his face only inches from mine. Cautiously, Joe aligned his shaft with my ass, and pressed the head against it. Biting his lip, he gave a small push inward, sending the head and some of the shaft in.

I let out a small groan, doing what Joe wanted me to do, and that was to relax. It felt like I was still kind of tight, considering Joe was a well-endowed man. He was larger than he looked. Still, what purpose did it serve to struggle? It was time to just let it all happen.

"Y'okay?" Joe asked, breathing directly into my face. Granted his breath still smelled like booze, but he was coming down enough to actually become cautious about what he was doing. Still, that wasn't going to erase the possibility of a massive hangover tomorrow.

I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his once more. Yup, still glazed as fuck, but there was an expression of concern. I knew he was still in there somewhere.

"Yeah," I replied, bringing my hand up to his cheek, "I'm fine." I raised my head just enough to meet my lips with his. The taste of booze still lingered, but hey, it's not like my breath was any better.

Once our lips connected into a kiss, Joe began to rock his hips into me, more of his shaft entering. It slid right in with ease, and there was no more clenching or discomfort. My buttocks made contact with the base of his cock with every motion, with every time he slid inward. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, my fingers grasping his soaked flesh.

My lips remained connected to his, until we had to temporarily break the kiss throughout just to take small breaths in order to strengthen the duration of our kisses. Our lips smacked, and heavy breaths were exchanged. Joe encircled his arms around my arched back, our bodies coming closer, my bare skin grazing against his. This was fucking intense.

The kiss was then broken due to Joe having to take a few fresh breaths for energy. I could see how hard he was working, but he wasn't at that fast of a rate to feel exhaustion.

"C'mon, Joey-boy," I whispered, mimicking one of the broads, "Go a lil' faster…"

"Vito, you're so fuck'n warm…" Joe licked his lips and rocked his hips harder, sweat drizzling off his hot, thick flesh. I could feel him pumping deeper inside me as well. Trying to bring him deeper inward, I wrapped my legs high around his waist. This would do for better access.

"C'mon… Joey… boy…" I panted, staring at his face as he plowed me. It was amusing, teasing him in such a way, then watching him exert more effort and energy into me. He breathed heavily, veins discreetly buldging from his forehead, his brow furrowed, his cheeks flushed. I could feel his thick sweat drop onto my chest and neck, but it didn't matter.

"Sorry… I'm sweatin' on ya…" Joe panted, talking with more breath than anything. He was really starting to become exhausted, unless the alcohol was slowing down his stamina.

I combed my fingers through his thick, black mess of curls. When his hair was wet, his curls were more distinguishable; whereas when his hair was dry, it was combed back with a wavy texture. It was strange, almost uncanny, that I was now just noticing discreet details about Joe's appearance that I never had a chance to acknowledge before on a daily basis. To anyone else, they would have been sloppy, disgusting details, but in this moment, they all seemed natural, and frankly beautiful.

Joe? Beautiful? Never in a million years would I think to say something like that about Joe fucking Barbaro. This man was the epitome of anything _not_beautiful. But these odd traits were why I was drawn to him. His skin, sweat, breath, hair, _body_ hair, scent, the entirety of Joe; I enjoyed every single part of this.

"Vito…" I heard Joe breathe. "Vito… Vito… oh baby, Vito…"

I found it to be a great turn-on when Joe breathed my name. How I was on his mind while he was completely in the zone, thinking about me, caring for my body in such a way.

Soon, with each rocking motion, a strong sensation was building up within me, like a pressure valve ready to burst. I clung onto Joe's back, my arms tucked underneath his armpits. I grazed my lips against Joe's as my eyes met his.

"It's comin', Joe… I can feel it… coming…" I panted harder, my hips bucking against Joe's thrusts.

"God… oh god… Vito…" Joe moaned. "I feel it too…"

"C'mon, Joe…" I begged, "Cum for me…"

"Shit… Vito, it's so fuckin' warm inside you…!"

"Fuck…"

That pressure soon built up to intense pleasure that coursed throughout my entire body. Within moments, I was shaking, and I threw my head back and emit an extended, almost higher-octave note from my throat. I shut my eyes, abdomen tingling, my rectum pulsating around Joe's shaft. All at the same time, I released. Once it all poured out, I relaxed my entire body, chuckling lightly due to euphoria.

Joe was on the verge of climaxing. He was thrusting as fast as he could, rocking the entire sofa. I could start to hear the squeaking of the sofa's legs scooting and sliding against the hardwood floor. The poor guy was trying to hard, a little persuasion wouldn't do any harm.

"Joe, baby… cum… for me…" I whispered. "I know you want to… so do it…"

"I-I wanna cum… all over you…" Joe stammered, still in the heat of the moment.

"Do it… pull out and just release it… all over my chest…" I pulled the rest of my shirt open to reveal my entire chest. "Cum on _this_ Joe… all of it… just like you want to… Joey-boy…"

Joe grit his teeth, his final thrusts becoming hard and laboring. He tried to muffle a loud groan as he slid his member out of me directed the head towards my abdomen. He grasped it firmly before his seed poured onto me, the warm liquid drizzling along each and every curve and crevasse of my chest and abs. My ejaculate and his mixed together, in what looked like a messy portrait, my body being the canvas. Joe was a real Picasso.

I decided to lay there to catch my breath, my chest expanding upwards, then collapsing slowly. I stared at the ceiling, my head still reeling, not just from the alcohol, but from the ecstasy.

I noticed Joe sitting hunched over between my legs, still panting and holding his now limp member. I was impressed by his stamina, even through how shitfaced he was. I couldn't help but stare with content. It was weird to see Joe like this, with ecstasy-induced exhaustion. He was drenched, red in the face, and his hair's wetness still exposing refined curls.

I think he caught me staring, since he looked up from his dick and straight at me, a grin stretching across his face.

"Did'jya like that…?" he finally asked.

I nodded, playfully biting my own lip. I have to admit, it was a pretty pleasant experience. Of course, it was one I wasn't willing to talk about after the night ended.

That reminded me; why did he and I fuck in the first place? The alcohol mixed with orgasms really bogged my memory.

"Where'd those lil' bitches go…?" Joe asked, sitting up completely to look around with squinted eyes. I looked in the same direction he was, and I began to question their whereabouts.

"Did they jus' up 'n leave…?" Joe asked once more, rubbing his forehead.

I carefully sat up, resting my back against the sofa. "Looks like they just bailed on us."

"Agh, _shit_," Joe spat. "Fuck'm! They're not worth my shit…"

Joe sat against the couch and rubbed his tired eyes. I pressed my hands against the cushions of the couch and tried to force myself up. Once I was standing, my head began to reel again. I almost toppled over, but Joe pressed a firm hand against the small of my back.

"Easy now, Vito…" he began.

"Fuck… I can't drive home like this," I groaned, holding my forehead.

Joe carefully stood up, almost staggering. "I'll walk ya to my bed… just take it easy, now…"

He clumsily lead me to his bedroom, which was messy, but nothing I could complain about. I just needed a bed and a good night's sleep.

Joe helped me get settled in, and willingly started to tuck the blankets under me.

"Why're you tuckin' me in…?" I asked, glaring at him.

"It just fuckin' feels right…" he replied after I was snug under the covers.

"Where're you sleepin' tonight?" I asked.

"On th' couch…" he replied, shutting the door behind himself. Once the door was shut, I heard a loud _thud_ followed by the sound of bottles being tipped over. I shut my eyes and shook my head, but slid my arms out from under the covers and over my chest, turning to lay on my back. I didn't allow myself to think for the rest of the night, since it'd disturb my sleep process. I just hoped that tonight wouldn't carry out into the rest of my days. If it did, I'd be in for one hell of a ride.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Morning After

Chapter Two

THE MORNING AFTER

Joe's Apartment - Saturday, June 23rd, 1951

I woke up abruptly to the piercing wail of Joe's alarm clock, which was on the nightstand right by the head of the bed. I clenched my eyelids, throwing a pillow over my head to muffle the sound, haphazardly expecting it to stop the alarm clock's explosive noise. I was hopeless after thirty seconds of laying there with the pillow over my head, and in turn, threw my body over to the side where the alarm clock sat, and bashed my fist against the top of it.

Once that was over, I tossed the pillow aside and rubbed my face. I could already feel the symptoms of my hangover arriving, and it was unpleasant. I couldn't remember the last time I had a hangover. As far as I know, I probably had one when I was younger and more playful with my booze.

Mustering up strength, I lifted my upper body from the mattress, then turned so my legs could hang off the edge of the bed. When I sat upright, I felt something strange, like something crusty and glue-like plastered on my abdominal area. Looking down, I touched my abdomen. There was a white, sticky substance, which caked my abs and bellybutton. Was I making arts and fucking crafts in my sleep?

Another thing I noticed really threw me off guard, and that was my nudity. All night, it seemed like I had been asleep without wearing any pants or underwear. My shirt and jacket were still on, only they were unbuttoned, and my shirt was completely open. My exposed torso didn't bother me a bit, but it was my naked bottom half which left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. I had to find my pants, and fast.

First, I needed to take care of myself. I grasped the edge of the bed and hoisted myself up onto my feet. Standing up, my head began to reel once more, with a combination of head rush and a hangover. I ventured to the bathroom and shut the door, proceeding to turn on the sink faucet to the highest temperature it could go. I grabbed a washrag, ran it under the heated water, then grazed the soaked fabric along my abdomen. I'll admit, it burned like a bitch at first, but anything to get the sticky shit off my stomach.

Some of it was coming off, but I didn't achieve much progress until I began to push through my pain and scrub immensely at the mess. When I was finished, the rag was sticky and wet, but my abdomen was clean. Rubbed raw, but still spotless.

After that, I dropped the crumpled up rag in the sink and opened the door. Peaking out stealthily, I made sure no one was in the bedroom before stepping out, cupping my junk in my hand. I covered my ass by pulling my shirt down in front of it with the other hand, walking in an awkward position.

I tiptoed to the door and quietly opened it with the hand that was used to cover my ass. I peeked through this door to be met with the scent of smoke that still lingered in the living room from last night. My pants were probably in there, but it would be hard to get my hands on them, considering Joe was probably sleeping in there.

I opened the door slightly wider, poking my head through. And, let me say that I got quite an eyeful of Joe laying face-down on the floor, stark fucking nude for the exception of his filthy tank top. There were empty booze bottles and scotch glasses scattered across the floor around the table and sofa. My eyes darted around, and finally, I spotted my pants, crumpled in a heap at the foot of the sofa.

I had to move fast, considering Joe could wake up any minute, even though his earthquake of a snore proved otherwise. Keeping my lower regions covered, I tiptoed around the coffee table, making my way over to the sofa. I leaned over and picked up my pants, fixing them so the legs weren't inside out. My boxers were even crumpled up inside of them, which I slid on first before the pants, then the belt. With that, I buttoned my shirt up and advanced towards the door where my shoes sat patiently for me to stick my feet into.

Before placing my hand on the doorknob, I glanced back, noticing that Joe was still dead asleep with his face planted into the floor, snoring incredibly loud. The neighbors a floor beneath him would surely blow a gasket.

I retreated from the apartment, and rushed outside to my car, which was still parked in Joe's garage. I opened the door and slid into the driver seat, but once my ass made contact with the cushion, I grit my teeth, emitting a pained hiss before clutching the steering wheel to hoist myself up from the hard seat.

"Agh... _ssssssh_it!" I growled. My ass and tailbone hurt like hell, almost like a car ran straight into them. Once I felt that shock of pain, it continued to linger, pulsating. I cursed under my breath multiple times, hoping the pain would soon end so I could start the car and get the fuck back home. Of course, it probably wasn't going to go away, so I'd have to white-knuckle it throughout the entire drive home. Even though the pain was sharp, my memory wasn't. Everything from last night was still bogged down in the midst of my hangover. I was going to have a lot of thinking to do when I got home.

Lowering myself back into the seat, I let out a pained _"_F_uuuu_ck_!"_ before starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. I gnashed my teeth the entire time, my asshole twitching with an irritation. Most of the pain was in my tailbone, which throbbed immensely as I was putting pressure on it just from sitting down. I broke into a light sweat just from dealing with it. It was extremely hard to drive, and even collect my thoughts. I'd have to sit in a bucket of ice later just to retain my sanity.

When I finally arrived home, I parked my car in the garage and limped my way inside. Fuck, now walking was starting to hurt. After unlocking my door, I entered my home and shut the door again, tossing my keys on the kitchen counter. My hangover was starting to immensely pound away at my head, so I rubbed my temples. Great, I completely forgot what I was going to do. Oh, right, sit in a bucket of ice.

Once I prepared the bucket of ice in the kitchen, I took it out into the living room, setting it in front of the couch so I could face the TV. I shook my head while unbuckling my belt and dropping my pants and underwear to my ankles. Inhaling deeply, I lowered my ass into the bucket of ice, the pain returning. I hissed again, gnashing my teeth once more. The harsh coldness of the ice combined with the pulsating ache in my lower back as well as the pounding in my temples made me want to put a pullet through my head. The pain was pissing me off, so I needed to find an outlet.

I carefully reached for the TV remote and flicked on the tube. I felt my jaw lock up as I continued to clench my teeth in pain, another factor to add to my irritation.

The news came on, the anchorman discussing the latest mob hits, blood baths and murderous rampages, as usual. It was a good thing my name or face didn't show up on television, which would most likely end up on millions of peoples' TV screens. That was an unneeded dilemma.

I tilted my head back against the edge of the couch, letting my mind wander as the crackling sound of the newscaster's voice through the retrograde speakers swam in through one ear and right out the other.

Now, it was time to think. It was time to look into myself for the answers to the questions I had regarding my night with Joe.

I took myself back to the beginning. I was at home, reading the papers and having myself a mug of coffee. Joe called me, asked for me to come over. I did, the two hookers were there, and I think one of them was the redhead, fuck if I remembered the other one. The redhead was flirting with me as usual, I rebuffed her affections. Then Joe came out with… scotch? No, brandy. It was brandy. Then the girls, Joe and I played a little game of some sort. I couldn't exactly recall how it began, and how the girls played, since that's when the booze kicked in. But that's when I remembered Joe trying to kiss me, or succeeding. Then, he laid his hands on me in the most uncomfortable ways. Before I knew it, the shock of pain returned to my tailbone, and the sudden realization shot me like a bullet from a pistol.

Joe and I slept together.

"Fuck…" I groaned as I grazed my hands over my face. All at once, the pieces really began to connect: the pain in my ass, waking up naked, the cum that caked my stomach, my pants being crumpled up by Joe's sofa, and Joe himself laying face-down on the floor stark fucking nude. It all made sense now: I had sex with Joe. He and I. Fucked. God damn it… What the _fuck_ is wrong with me? Joe is my best friend, we like _women_, the entire night was _unnatural_. I had to be fucking kidding myself.

"Get it together, Vito…" I muttered to myself. "I gotta play it off like it never happened…" I then tried to remember how shitfaced Joe was last night. I wasn't nearly as drunk as he was. So, if I could barely remember the small details of last night with the amount I had, compared to the amount he had, then chances were that Joe would not remember a _single thing_ about last night. By now, he was probably waking his happy ass up, a hangover already kicking in. Maybe even tripping over booze bottles while on his way to the bathroom. Heh, classic Joe.

Still, I wondered what _would_ happen if he _did_ remember last night. Highly unlikely, but what if? Would he become disgusted with me or himself? Would he move away? Would he never contact me again? Or… would he try to pursue something with me? Something more than what we shared last night? It'd be very unlikely of Joe to make something out of a one-night stand, like a _relationship_. That was probably never going to happen, so I shouldn't fret too much.

"He's not gonna remember it…" I sighed. "Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Vito. Joe's not gonna remember. It'll be all hunky fuckin' dory from there!"

In the midst of me finally collecting my thoughts from last night, I came to realize that my ass had gone numb with the time I'd spent sitting in a bucket of ice. Grabbing the edge of the couch, I hoisted myself up, ice sticking to my asscheeks, then falling off into the bucket. I pulled up my pants and went to dump the ice out my back window. There was no way I'd be using that ice for anything.

I walked over to the kitchen and made myself a hot mug of coffee. It's just what I needed to calm my aching hangover.

After brewing one mug, I walked over to my couch and set the mug on the coaster beside me. I couldn't sit, so I had to lay on my side in order to rest on the couch painlessly. I'll admit, my ass still hurt, but not nearly as much as it did earlier before I treated myself to the bucket of ice. Maybe a good nap would help the back ache and ass pain. Yeah, good idea.

I took another sip from my coffee before setting it back down on the coaster. With that, I shut my eyes and let my consciousness drift. I just needed to let go, not let the night with Joe linger so much as to overpower my capability to sleep. And sleep is what I did, but only for a few hours until I was awoken by the crashing of thunder outside. Just what I fucking needed.

I arose from my nap, sitting up to rub my eyes. Finally, I could sit again without excruciating pain. My sphincter still throbbed a little, but nothing that I couldn't deal with. My headache still lingered, but it was nothing more than a distinguishable numbness in my forehead. I reached for my coffee much and picked it up, taking a sip. My coffee was cold, but I couldn't complain.

Just then, my phone rang. I stood up and went to go answer it. When I did, I greeted the caller with "Vito Scaletta, how can I be of your service?"

"Hey… _hey_ Vito." It was Joe.

Again, I had to play it off like nothing happened.

"Hey, Joe," I began. "You don't sound so hot."

"I'm hung-over like holy hell, whaddaya think?" Joe sighed. "Listen, I'm callin' you from a phone booth. This fuckin' electrical storm took out all the power from my apartment while I was in the middle of takin' a shit."

"Good to know," I answered sarcastically.

"Anyways, I was wonderin' if I could come over and stay until tomorrow. That's when the storm is supposed to end."

"Why can't you just stay at a hotel?" I asked, unintentionally sounding harsh. The truth was that I needed a day away from him to collect my thoughts and emotions about the night before. Things just didn't feel right at the moment.

"Vito, you know my fear of hotels!" Joe replied, "I hate those fuckin' places. I found a used condom in one of the beds, a spider in the toilet, and a rat in the shower drain. There was even this one hotel I has been to where I heard voices in the middle of the fuckin' night that made me piss my best pair of silk pajamas."

"Alright, I fuckin' get it! You're a chicken-shit when it comes to hotels." I ran my fingers through the back of my hair. "Okay, fine. I'll swing by and pick you up."

"Actually, my hangover got better, so I think I can drive over there myself," he added.

"Agh, whatever you say. Just don't get killed," I finished.

"Thanks, Vito. You're the best."

"No problem. See you soon." With that, I hung up. Christ, he was so needy. The way he always wanted something from me, such as driving his drunk ass home from a bar, saving him from a rival mob, all that shit. Sometimes, he needed me to take a suit to the dry-cleaners to be pressed while he was out doing some "business", such as going out to a cat-house. Again, needy as fuck. But there was something in that neediness that sparked a kind of admiration. Something I found, well, kind of cute.

Whoa, whoa, wait a fucking second. _Cute_?! The _fuck_ was I thinking? There was nothing cute about that guy, or his dipshit habits. The way he was needy was so pathetic. But it was my dumbass that kept giving him what he begged for. I guess that's what friendship is. Even when I can't stand living with him, there's no way in hell that I can live without him.

About half an hour later, there was a knock on the door. I arose from the couch and answered it. There stood Joe, soaking wet from the rain.

"Have you ever heard of a fuckin' umbrella?" I asked.

"Ah, shit! I forgot it at home," Joe cursed, much like a student realizing they had forgotten about their homework.

"Just… stand on the mat," I ordered, "I'm gonna go get you a towel."

Joe stepped inside and stood idly on the matt before closing the door behind him. I rushed to the bathroom and retrieved a warm towel before rushing back to him.

"Thanks, Vito," Joe spoke before taking the towel to dry himself off with.

"No problem." I stood there and crossed my arms, watching intently as he dried himself off. Upon watching his every move, I noticed a very small detail about him that sparked yet another detail from last night: his hair. When his hair was soaked, it appeared to be in more mated down, refined black curls, than when it was in its dry and wavy state. That was an observation I made last night while we screwed on his couch, and it seemed to stick with me, And with this, a familiar feeling came back to me. The feeling brought that very same heat into my cheeks, causing them to become pink.

To hide my flushed expression, I turned and retreated into the kitchen, acting like I was doing something important.

I approached the fridge before clearing my throat and asking Joe, Want a drink?"

In the middle of drying himself with a towel, he approached the kitchen counter, much like he would approach a bartender.

"Yeah, I'll take a beer," he replied, flinging the towel over his shoulder. I took a beer from the top rack and cracked it open with a bottle-opener before handing it to Joe.

"Thanks!" he smiled before taking a ship. "I like me a fresh beer."

"I thought you were hung-over," I began, trying to break the silence with a small conversation starter.

"C'mon, Vito!" Joe laughed," plopping his wet ass on the couch. "You know that the best remedy for a hangover is beer! Everyone and their mothers know that!"

"Jee, I guess I _would_ know that," I retorted, "_if _I always got piss drunk, passed the fuck out, and woke up with a headache for most days out of the week."

"You're such a fuckin' prude!" Joe snorted. "I've _never_ seen you drunk before. Calm and partially tipsy, but _never _drunk. Why's that?"

Preparing myself another mug of coffee, I leaned against the counter, not really wanting to be in the same room as Joe. I was relieved that he said he'd never seen me drunk before, because that meant he didn't remember last night, and that included me getting absolutely shitfaced.

"I like to keep my head on my shoulders," I replied. "If I don't have a clear conscience, then I feel vulnerable and endangered. I also like to be in complete control."

"But bein' out of control is so much fuckin' fun!" Joe exclaimed.

"Maybe for your wild, party-cravin' ass, but not to me."

"I know there's a party-animal in there _somewhere_, Vito," Joe continued, "and he's just as fierce as the rebellious mobster Vito that I know 'n love."

"That's a side of me I'm only willing to unleash on the job, not in the club." I picked up my mug and advanced towards the living room. I knew I couldn't be astray from Joe forever.

I sat across from him on my single-person sofa. I still couldn't get too close to him. The atmosphere still held tension. I crossed my legs upon noticing Joe's wet, curly hair again. It didn't send heat through my cheeks again. Only now did it cause a tingling sensation to spread to my lower regions. I knew what would happen, so I had to uncomfortably hide it.

Joe took another swig of his beer and stood up, looking around as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Say, Vito," he began, "I gotta piss like a racehorse. Where's your bathroom?"

I was about to answer until I noticed a large wet spot on the couch cushion that was the width of his whole ass. I rolled my eyes.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me," I began, gesturing to the cushion. "Could you have at least put the towel down before sitting?"

"Sorry, I didn't think of that!" Joe responded.

"Christ, why the hell are you drenched in the first place? Did you fuckin' _walk_ here?"

"No, I drove!" Joe replied, "It's such a god damn downpour outside that the _second _I stepped of my house and to my car, then out of my car and to your front steps, I was instantly drenched from head to fuckin' toe."

"Fine, fine, whatever," I sighed. "The bathroom is down the hall, first door to your right."

"Thanks," Joe added before making his way to the bathroom. As he disappeared into the depths of the hallway, I could hear him noisily shutting the door. Finally, a moment of peace.

I uncrossed my legs, and to my demise, a half-formed hard-on. Just my fucking luck.

Suddenly, I saw a glint of something out of the corner of my eye that was on the floor. Something must have fallen out of Joe's pocket while he was on his way to the bathroom.

Approaching the object, I leaned over and picked it up, observing it. The object was flat and contained in a small, square-shaped wrapper. There was an extrusion in the wrapper that appeared to be circular. I ran my thumb over the extrusion, feeling the object beneath. It had a slick, rubbery texture.

This was a condom.

So, Joe _did_ remember last night. He remembered every single god damn thing about it. What he said about my party-animal side being fierce and wild, he _knew_ that. And worst of all, he was coming back for seconds! What the _actual fuck_?! I bet his power wasn't even out. He just wanted an excuse to come over and have his way with me again. Christ, I should've just told him no.

Shit, I was really in over my head with this whole idea. While my mind raced, I could feel my breath deepen, pulse quicken, cheeks heating up. Some of it was from anger, but in reality, the idea that Joe wanted more, well, it seemed to have been flattering me on the inside. It made me believe that if he's coming to me for seconds, then I must have given him the best sex of his life last night.

No, no! That can't fucking be true! I've known Joe for decades, and I know how much of a whore he was. He probably carries condoms around all the time, probably to the grocery store, too. He was always expecting to get some every time he left his apartment. He probably had a condom in his pocket just out of a bad habit. The poor son of a bitch was probably expecting to get some on his drive over to my place. Maybe he just sucks at emptying out his pockets.

Above all, what the hell was I getting so paranoid about? It was just a condom, an object not worth being scared of. It didn't mean shit. Besides, it's better to be safe than sorry.

I snapped out of it once I heard the bathroom door fly open, which prompted me to sit back down, cross my legs and frantically stuff the condom into my pocket. Joe walked back to the couch, only this time laying the towel down over the cushion before sitting.

"There, I put the towel under my ass. Happy?" he asked.

"It's already wet, so it's not gonna make much of a fuckin' difference, but thanks anyway." I reached for my coffee mug and took a long sip.

Joe rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. From behind my mug, I shot a glance at him as he drank his beer, his eyes fixed upon the television. I paid little attention to the news, except for Joe. He was sucked into it.

He put his beer down and exhaled with satisfactory. "Another Chinese gang shooting downtown. Hmph, fuckin' chinks."

I put down my mug, shaking my head. Today was just chock full of gang violence. I was kind of glad that I wasn't on the job right now. I was relieved that there wasn't anything to do, yet there was too much free time. I was so used to work that weekends put me on edge. It felt like while I was in the middle of relaxation, the phone would suddenly ring and I'd have to, once again, get the job done. Hey, business was business.

Still, the free time gave me some sort of obligation to work things out with Joe in regards to last night's shenanigans. I didn't want to talk about it, but if I didn't, then it would fuck with me until the end of my days. I promised to act like it didn't happen, bit it obviously _did, _so there was no point in running.

I sighed before leaning over, my elbows pressed against my knees. "Say, Joe…" I began with a low tone. "Uh, you wanna… you wanna talk about anything?"

Joe broke his concentration from the TV screen and directed his gaze over to me. He raised an eyebrow, curious as to what I was saying.

"Talk?" he repeated. "Talk about what?"

"Well, anything." I answered. "Something that's on your mind, ya know?"

Joe rubbed the back of his head, thinking of what to talk about. I could see his eyes darting around the room for solutions. I noticed how his hair was still wet and curly, and focused on something else to ease the unwanted arousal. My eyes were directed to his flamboyant Hawaiian shirt that peaked from beneath his black leather jacket.

There was enough silence between us to where I could hear the rain pouring against the pavement and bushes outside behind the feedback coming from the television. This silence had to be broken. Now.

"Other than kicking ass and sleeping with the hottest broads around, what else could possibly be on my mind?" Joe asked.

"I dunno, maybe…" I scratched my left temple. "Maybe, uh, last night?"

"Last night?" Joe repeated.

"Yeah. You fuckin' deaf?"

"Ah, well, last night… let's see…" Joe pondered. One side of me hoped he didn't remember the night, and we could just completely forget about it together and not let it interfere with our lives. Yet, the other side of me wished that he remembered the night so we could talk about and resolve it without any tension between us. Still, if one person remembered it and the other had no recollection, it would be extremely uncomfortable. If he didn't remember it, well, then I'd just have to work my hardest to never remember it. But if he remembered it, then he and I were going to talk about it.

"Oh," Joe began, raising his arms to bring his hands behind his head. "Last night, I partied with the hottest broads in New York. You remember the redhead, right?"

"Yeah, I do," I replied. "I was there."

"Oh _yeah_, you were!" Joe added. "Wasn't she hittin' on you the entire time?"

"Only for a few minutes. You were in the kitchen with the Spanish broad."

"Oh, she was all _over_ me while I was mixin' drinks!" Joe laughed. "You should'a seen her!"

"Do you remember anything _after_ that?" I asked, trying to figure out if I could dig up any kind of detail that was in his bogged memory.

"I drank a shit ton of brandy!" Joe grinned. "Man, that was kick-ass brandy. When I woke up, there was less than a bottle left."

"Well, you weren't the only one killin' the bottle," I continued. "I had quite a bit."

"You barely had jack shit. You had _one_ glass that was all watered down with ice. I had to finish the rest for you." Joe took another sip from his beer. I was astonished at how Joe was able to remember the ratio of liquor-to-ice in my glass, but didn't remember the _big_ thing that happened right there on the couch. What the actual _fuck _was wrong with this guy?

"Right, right," I retorted, slipping my hand into my pocket to pull out the condom. I held it between my middle and index finger, turning it so he could see the small packaging.

"Explain this." I tossed the condom onto the coffee table for him to look at. "Should _that_ help you out?"

Joe appeared as if his blood practically froze. He stared down at the condom and gulped before scratching the back of his head.

"That's mine?" he asked, his voice clearly shaken.

"Yeah. It felt outta your pocket when you went to the bathroom. It wasn't in my house before, so it has to be yours."

Joe leaned over and ran his fingers through his dampened hair.

"It's kinda embarrassin'," he began, "I forgot to empty my pockets. Who'dah known? Well, you know me, Vito. I like to fuck. I gotta, ya know, carry around extra protection. Don't you do the same?"

"I know you like to fuck," I replied, "I saw you in action last night. Also, if you knew you were comin' over, why'd you need that _extra protection_?"

Joe sat back against the couch, sighing. He remembered the entire night and I could see it on his face. He was hiding it, just how I had before. He was thinking the same thing that I was. I've known him for almost my entire life. I knew when he was lying, when he was hiding something, and I knew especially when he had the same thoughts as me. I didn't want to talk about it, and neither did he, but we couldn't escape it, and he knew it.

"Joe," I began, saying his name rather sharply, "You remember everything that happened last night." I didn't state it as a question, but as a clear statement.

Joe shut his eyes and shook his head, not in a "no" gesture, but in more of a gesture of anguish.

"I, I do. Vito." He finally confessed. "I remember it all. I just… I thought this would interfere with our friendship, okay? I didn't want to talk about it. I would've actually preferred not to remember it, and just use the alcohol as an excuse to go about my fuckin' life without having it hanging over my head. I knew you remembered, but I wanted to act like _I_ didn't so you wouldn't feel obligated to talk about it."

"And, what about the condom?" I asked.

"I just… it was to show you that I remembered. You know, a small token to represent what I remembered. I-I really… I guess you're pissed at me and don't want me in your life no more. Vito. I'm sorry. I'm really, really fuckin' sorry…"

Joe leaned over and placed his face within his hands. I was a not even close to being mad. Infact, I felt a weight lift itself from my heart, knowing that Joe was being honest about the ordeal.

"Joe," I began, this time my voice softening with sincerity, "I was there, you were there, and it happened. As much as we regret it, the damn thing happened, and there's no use runnin' from it. You're my _best_ friend. You've got no reason to be ashamed of anything. And there's no way in hell that what we did last night can interfere with our friendship. We were drunk, it was an accident. Just like Henry says, 'shit happens', does it not?"

Joe cracked an admirable smile when I finished. "Aw, shit…Well, I suppose you're right about that."

"Why don't we hug it out?" I offered, standing up. Joe gave a nod of consent before we accepted each other in an embrace.

Once I was in his arms, I felt like he wasn't going to let go very easily. I wrapped one arm around his back, and the other around his shoulders. My hand accidentally made contact with his damp hair, which was beginning to regain its usual wavy texture upon drying. But the back of his head held the most dampness, which caused the waves to appear as curls. I involuntarily slipped my fingers through the wet curls, burying my face within the nape of his neck. I sighed contently and closed my eyes while my fingers calmly toyed with the damp curls. I could feel Joe's hands sliding up and down my back in a comforting manner. The hug lasted a rather long time, longer than I had intended.

It seemed as though seconds later, that hug had quickly turned into us undressing one another, our lips locked, tongues entwining, only we weren't in the living room anymore, but in my bed.

Joe's lips grazed my bare shoulders as he pulled off my shirt and jacket, my heart pounding rapidly. I grabbed a hold of his damp hair, throwing my head back as to give him access to my sensitive neck, which he took the liberty of planting kisses against.

It happened fast. The kissing, the heavy breathing, the undressing. Soon, we were completely naked, under my covers, embracing one another, our skin grazing against one another. My mind was practically gone. His was, too. This wasn't supposed to happen, but it was happening anyway, and we had no control over it. This action was out of pure passion, no conscience. I had no idea where it all came from, how it began, but I knew for a fact that there was no going back.

"Joe… where… where's that condom…?" I managed to utter a partially coherent question between steamy kisses.

Joe stopped shortly before looking around to spot the condom, which had magically appeared on my night stand. He reached for it and tore it open with his teeth, spitting out the wrapper before rolling the rubber onto his member.

I sat up and wrapped my arms around his shoulder, kissing his cheeks, jawline and neck while he tried to roll the condom on. He was clumsy and frantic about it, since I was distracting him with my kisses.

My lips finally met his ear, in which I uttered, "You got the olive oil?"

Joe coughed before slipping the condom on completely. "U… uh… no, I don't…"

"It's fine," I replied, laying back down and rolling over to retrieve a bottle of hand lotion from my night stand. It had a thicker consistency than olive oil, but it was better than nothing.

"Here," I offered, handing the bottle over. Joe took the bottle and squirted a mound of lotion onto his hand before slathering it on his shaft.

I lay against the mattress, my legs open, body completely exposed, and so was his. The light shined from the lamp on my bed stand, giving the dim room a warm glow, which happened to bounce off of Joe's gleaming skin. I've never seen him in this kind of light. I normally imagined a naked Joe looking extremely out of shape, hairy and unkempt. When looking through a woman's eyes, that wouldn't seem very attractive to anyone. But seeing him now, completely nude, exposed flesh, I was proven wrong. Sure, he had a gut, some extra chub, but all in all… he was very lean. There was fat, but also toned muscle beneath it all. There was hair, yes, but only on his chest and legs. It wasn't out of control to the point he looked like a fucking gorilla. Granted, he was all sweaty, but so was I. His body type and large figure made me feel small as I lay before him, looking up to his tense, flushed face. He appeared to be radiant. I'd never seen a woman in this kind of light before, despite the many times I've been with women. This was strange, considering that it was Joe. I was seeing Joe through a rather sensual light. And this time, I was sober, conscious and willing.

Joe lowered himself, as to press his hands against the mattress and bring himself between my legs, our bodies parallel with one another. He looked down at me, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. I know mine were, too.

Once more, our lips made contact, my hands grazing up and down his bare back. His lips traveled from mine, all down my cheeks, jaw line and neck. I grasped Joe's thick hair, my fingers getting caught in the thick ripples and curls grown from his tough scalp. He managed to, once again, find the sweet spots on my neck, which were more near where the base of my neck connected with my shoulders. He was great, no, a _professional_ at this. I shouldn't have been enjoying this, but my mind wasn't there to object to it. My body was the one talking.

Soon enough, we were ready to engage in the real deal. Joe looked me back in the eyes and asked me, "You ready, Vito?"

"Yeah," I muttered, "Just slow the fuck down this time... I woke up this morning thinkin' my ass got ran over by a semi."

With that, Joe chuckled before placing yet another steamy kiss on my lips. Joe and I last had sex just several hours ago, so I was sure to still be a little more _opened up_ than with our first round. The second go should be a tad bit smoother.

Indeed, it was smoother. Once he was inside me, it didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as before. I may have been drunk my first time, but I knew how to distinguish how my ass felt before and after, despite it only being my second time now.

Joe rocked his hips slowly with a steady rhythm. He seemed much more cautious about sex than he was last night. I could tell, since he was trying his best to keep the rhythm consistent while grasping the mattress. He kept looking down, then looking back at my face to see if I was alright. Not once during the beginning did my face contort with pain, although I did feel a warm glow ascend to my cheeks upon admiring how caring Joe was being. Did he seduce women with this much care and concern? I was only left to wonder.

Once Joe looked me in the eye with concern for the umpteenth time, I caressed his face and pulled him in for yet another kiss. He was doing so good, so I showed my appreciation. With every small thrust, Joe relieved a small grunt against my lips. We only broke the kiss for air, nothing more. At one point, he started to quicken the pace. I didn't need to tell him to. Instinctively knowing my body language, he went faster. Steamier kisses were exchanged, and he continued to grasp the mattress, knuckles white while I took hold of his shoulders.

After what felt like an hour of being in this position, bodies moving in a steady rhythm while our lips made an unbreakable pact, we climaxed together. And once we did, the rhythm came to a gradual halt, which ended with us locking eyes. Time stood still, and in that moment, I came to a stark realization.

"Joe..." I began, unable to break my eyes from his.

"Yeah, Vito...?" he asked, his voice rather airy from being out of breath. That, or this was the typical soft, after-sex tone.

"I need... I need some space... just for a second..." I was roasting, and Joe's simmering body heat didn't help much, but it wasn't the reason I wanted him off me.

Joe rolled over onto the space next to me on the mattress. He slid his hands under the covers, and that's when I could hear the faint sound of rubber snapping as he removed the condom and threw into in the wastebasket next to my bed. I ran my fingers through my damp hair, sighing. That stark realization came to me clearly now; Joe and I had just screwed for the _second time_, this time with no booze involved. Except for the one beer Joe guzzled down, but that was nothing.

What did this all mean? It was a code that I just couldn't crack. We began with hugging, but after the hug, there was this void that I couldn't comprehend. Suddenly, here we were, having sex again. Now we were laying side by side, speechless as to why it happened and why we were here.

Out the corner of my eye, I spotted Joe leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve his pants, which lay crumpled up on the floor. He fished around in them before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Slipping one into his mouth and lighting it, he offered me the pack. I hesitantly slipped my hand into the box and pulled out a cigarette. I set it between my lips, holding it steady with my index and middle fingers before turning to Joe, who generously lit it for me. I inhaled from the cigarette, and having not had one in a while, I coughed dryly, just getting used to the taste and sensation of it in my throat. The dizziness caught up to me from the intoxicating fumes. Surely enough, I'd get used to it.

"So..." Joe began. This time, he was the one breaking the silence. "Was it good for you?"

"Good? For me?" I repeated. "Well... I..." I was at loss for words. Was it good for me? Physically, as much as I hated to admit it, yes. Mentally, I wasn't so sure.

"I don't know," I finally answered. It sounded like a stupid response, but but really did not know how to describe what just happened.

"Whaddaya mean you don't know?" Joe asked, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"What I mean is that _I don't know_," I repeated. "I don't know how to feel about this whole thing."

"When I asked if it was good for you," Joe explained, "I was asking if it _felt_ good, you know, physically."

"Duh, I know that," I retorted, "and if you must know, yes, we got our rocks off, but I don't know about... _this_." I gestured by waving my finger back and forth between him and I.

Joe nonchalantly exhaled a cloud of smoke before speaking. "Does it really matter what _this_ is? It's not like anyone will find out about _this_. _This_ is our little secret."

"I know, I know..." I sighed, "But don't you think it's, well, wrong that we did it? I know the first time was an accident, and that can be shrugged off, but for fuck's sake, this time it was sober. And, if anyone found out about this, we'd get chased outta this fuckin' town, lose our reputations. The shit we did just now is taboo. It's fuckin' _illegal_."

"Vito," Joe began in a matter-of-fact tone, "What kind of business are you and I in? Remind me. I wanna know."

"Uh, the Sicilian fuckin' mafia of course."

"Right. And what do we _do_?"

"Joe..."

"Answer the question, Vito."

I rolled my eyes. "We practically shoot assholes, steal cars, blow up buildings and sell drugs."

"And _what_ exactly do we do it for?"

"Money?"

"Precisely." Joe took another long drag from his cigarette. I grazed my fingers through my hair, shaking my head.

"How does our business have _anything_ to do with us fucking? Explain that!" I exclaimed. At this point, Joe was making entirely no fucking sense.

"You're missing the big picture, Vito," Joe explained thoroughly. "You and I kill for business. Murder is immortal, but do we do it anyway? Yes. And for what? Our fair share of the profit. We steal cars, _expensive_ ones at that. We sell drugs to deadbeat losers and junkies. Normally, we'd get pinched for that, but we're good at what we do. Why? Because of the fuckin' money. And what do we do with said _fuckin' money_? We buy shit. Shit, being clothes, more cars, suits, booze and broads. We blew up the entire floor of a building to wipe out a gang that could have potentially stunted the possibility of us ever achieving fun shit like that."

"Your point?" I asked, bringing the cigarette back to my lips.

"My point is," Joe continued, "that we do a lot of hairy, _illegal_, and immoral things for dough and material goods. So, we had a little buttsex? What the fuck ever! We've done far worse! While we were fucking, did we kill anyone? Was blood shed? Did we have to take anyone's life for money? No. We just plain old had sex. A little sex isn't gonna hurt anyone! We didn't have to have our guns out the entire time, right?"

Joe did manage to prove a solid point to me. I watched him explain it all intently as I kept dragging from my cigarette. Maybe he was getting somewhere, but what exactly?

"So, what you're suggesting is that we should keep fuckin' each other, since it's not even close to being as bad as murdering, stealing and terrorizing?"

"Well, why the fuck not? We've done all the other shit. You only get one life, Vito. You've gotta live it up."

"Fuckin' pig..." I exhaled before rolling over to put out my cigarette in the ash tray on my night stand. "Besides, I like _women_, and so do you."

The room stood silent for several long, excruciating moments. All I could hear, once again, was the crackling audio coming from the TV in the living room, and the soft patter of the rain outside my window.

Suddenly, I felt Joe rolling towards me, his bare torso making close contact with my back. The simmering heat returned, which sent a tingle up my spine. I grimaced, thinking he was going to pull another move on me, but instead, pressed his body against mine as he reached his arm over my head to put out his cigarette in my ash tray, which was close to my head. We were now in an uncomfortably awkward position; still completely naked, our flesh touching once more. I shut my eyes and hoped that this wouldn't lead to another round of sex.

"Lemme tell you somethin'," Joe murmured as he twisted the cigarette butt against the bottom of the ash tray, his mouth close to my ear, "my apartment's power didn't really go out. I just used the weather as an excuse to come over here and talk to you."

"What the_ fuck_?" I shot.

Joe grinned as he let go of the cigarette butt. I expected him to roll back over to the other side of the mattress, but instead, he stayed in that position, his torso against my back, resting his chin on my shoulder. His arm was brought around my torso, pulling me closer to him. His other arm was hidden under the pillow that was supporting my head.

"Also," he continued, his voice becoming hush as his lips just barely made contact with my ear, "that condom I brought over; I took it along with me, since I had a feelin' that you and I would hit it off again."

"Fucker!" I growled as I tried to elbow him in the ribs in order to escape his hold. Joe, once again, overpowered me by encircling his arm around my torso to pull me in. I knew it. I knew the son of a bitch was just here for my ass. I knew it all along. Why the hell did I fall for it?!

"You gotta come prepared, right?" Joe smirked before bringing his arm from under the pillow to pull me in for a hug.

"Get the _fuck_ outta here!" I hollered as I tried to squirm from his grasp. Once again, he was much stronger than me. As I tried to squirm free, his hug tightened, and soon we were rolling around under the covers, hollering at one another (well, it was more _me_ hollering for him to let me go).

In the middle of our awkward, naked wrestling, Joe began tickling me. I absolutely _hated_ being tickled. Whenever I was tickled, I got violent. I thrashed about with the intentions of escaping, which resulted in me falling off furniture or hitting the other person or hitting my head. Nevertheless, when I got tickled, someone got hurt.

"Joe! Jo-AH! YOU FU-UCK!" I howled. "I'm gonna- fuckin'... nn... KILL YOU!"

"You can't escape, Vito!" Joe laughed, clearly amused by my torment.

"S-Sto-ahah! AHAHA! -AHHHP!" I shrieked, trying to conceal laughter, but it was impossible.

"You laugh like a little fuckin' girl!" Joe teased.

"Fuck- you! AH!" I giggled as he suddenly rolled atop me, now having me securely pinned down, his fingers still working their way at my ribs, sides, stomach and armpits. "Joe- STOP! STOP!"

"What's the magic _worrrrrd_?" he teased.

"FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS," I exclaimed, "GET THE FUCK OFFA ME- HEE HEE HEE!" I was stuck in an endless loop of shrieking, cursing and giggling. All of which caused by Joe, that fucking tease. If only I had the strength to match his, I would have kangaroo-kicked him off ages ago. But he just had to make things so fucking hard for me, didn't he?

"Good enough for me!" Joe finished. He stopped tickling me momentarily for me to catch my breath. I felt extreme heat rise to my cheeks, my breath heavy, forehead drenched in sweat. I could still feel phantom-tickles making their way all over my torso. The tickling sensation wouldn't stop. It was absolute Hell.

And here he was, Joe fucking Barbaro, on top of me, pinning my limbs down. We were both completely naked still, and just got done with an after-sex tickle fight. My chest was heaving, and my head was turned to the side. I could feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face. He was staring at me, I knew it. But why?

I felt him lower his face to mine, his simmering heat returning. I shut my eyes when his face came close, and in that particular moment, I felt his lips make small contact with my cheek. My face tensed up, but I didn't bother trying to squirm. If I pulled any funny business, Joe would surely try to tickle me again.

When that kiss made contact with my cheek, I felt an unwanted blush occur. I knew he saw it, since I heard him give a low chuckle.

"You're cute," he spoke with a teasing tone of voice.

"Fuck off," I replied, my cheeks turning redder. I avoided his stare by directing my eyes to smoke which simmered from the dead cigarette butt that sat within the ash tray.

With that, Joe finally let me go and rolled back over to his side of the bed. I breathed a sigh of relief, now that he unleashed me. I could hear him chuckling to himself over on that side, which made my blood boil.

"You're a fuckin' prick, you know that?" I asked in an irritated tone.

"Hey, you're not the first pair of soft lips that's said that to me," Joe laughed dubiously.

I groaned as I directed myself back towards the nightstand, bringing my hand to the small alarm clock that sat there idly by my lamp. I turned it towards me. Holy shit, it was already in the afternoon. Where the hell did all that time go? Oh, right. Still, I wasn't about to let Joe lounge around in my bed all day.

"Don't you have shit to do?" I asked him.

"No, not really," Joe answered, "Why do you ask?"

"I just think it'd be kinda weird if you just stayed here all day, considering we just, you know..."

"Pfft," he retorted, "There's nothin' wrong with stickin' around a little while."

"I know, but I have a feeling you're gonna want seconds."

"Hey, _you're_ the one sayin' that, not me."

"I just think it's kinda weird, since the atmosphere right now is sorta..."

"Sort_aaaaa_ what, Vito?"

"Look, I just need some solitude today. You know, some time to sort things out in my mind."

"Alright, alright," Joe replied, getting out from under the covers, sitting on the edge of my bed, "If you say so." With that, I turned my back to him, and he started to get dressed. I pulled the covers up to my neck, feeling exposed. I wasn't going to let him see me naked for the rest of the day.

When Joe was done getting dressed, he walked over to my side of the bed and leaned down to give me a teasing peck on the forehead.

"Gah!" I grunted, pulling the rest of the blanket over my head. "Go home already!" I was trying my damned hardest to conceal an even bigger blush that was creeping onto my face. I heard Joe laugh as he left my room. I heard him grab something in the distance before opening my front door and walking out, shutting it noisily behind him.

Great, he took my fucking umbrella. I knew that son of a bitch would. As long as he gave it back to me later on, I'd have no beef.

Looking out my bedroom window, I decided to lay in bed, completely naked under the covers. I'll admit it, it actually felt good, sleeping without any clothes on. Especially since my flesh was sensitive and tender from all the released euphoria. I guess it was time to take a nap, now. There was nothing more I wished to do with my day, so I simply ended it there, closing my eyes and letting the patter of the rain against the ground outside carry me off into a dreamlike state.


	3. Chapter 3 - Searching For An Answer

Chapter 3

SEARCHING FOR AN ANSWER

Villa Scaletta - Sunday, June 24th, 1951

I spent the entire Sunday to myself, doing nothing but cleaning, catching up on the news, and bought a couple new leather jackets. My wardrobe was becoming chock full of suits, which was preferable in my line of work, but I missed strutting around in a good old-fashioned jacket.

Still, no matter how much time I spent to myself that day, I couldn't shake the memory of Joe and I sleeping together the day before. I continuously asked myself "What the fuck is wrong with me?" throughout the day whenever the memory popped back in my head. A lady at the clothing store asked me if I needed assistance when I asked the question out loud while looking at a price tag. I just hope to God that this whole thing doesn't take a toll on me.

I could still smell Joe's scent on my furniture, by bed, my clothes and on myself. I sprayed the hell out of my sofa with cologne, and even washed my sheets, covers and pillowcases multiple times with more than the recommended amount of detergent. I washed the clothes I wore the day before, and bathed whenever I smelled Joe's scent and felt his lingering touch return to my flesh. This was all completely sickening.

What sickened me more was the fact that Joe was most likely enjoying himself, enjoying that he got a rise out of me. He was probably fantasizing about me, probably thinking of another excuse to come over and have his way with me again. Tssh, fucking amateur. It's not like I enjoyed it or anything. It's not like I enjoyed the way he curled his hand into a fist and waved it back and forth in front of his sweaty groin, giving the "jerk-off" gesture. It's not like I enjoyed the way he decorated his apartment the way a lady-killer would with all the pink and the flamingo figurines, which looked tacky as fuck. It's not like I enjoyed the way he constantly drinks, parties and hands around with whores from sun up to sun down. It's not like I enjoyed the way he gave that cocky fucking grin of his. It's not like I enjoyed his shitty pick-up lines, such as the mirror-in-the-pocket one. That one really sucked. It's not like I enjoyed how he just came to my place out of the blue, kept me company and then proceeded to itch a scratch I had. It's not like I enjoyed the way he asserted his dominance in bed, embraced me as he did so, then teased me afterwards. It's not like I enjoyed how his hair appeared curly when wet, allowing me to run my fingers easily through them, grip them, graze them. It's not like I enjoyed the way he made me laugh, and always proceeds to do so. It's not like that cocky grin of his sometimes shaped itself into a glorious smile that could charm the shit out of anyone, even me.

Great, now I needed to take a cold shower. My own thoughts were confusing me. Joe was practically taking over my mind, just by fucking me. What the hell was that all about?! I was never taken over by broads I happened to get lucky with at cat-houses. Never have I ever thought endlessly about a hooker, and I've slept with a good bunch of them, so why the hell was I endlessly thinking about Joe when he and I only fucked within the course of twelve hours?

The cold shower was painful, but satisfying. The excessively frigid water reached my head, giving me a mind-numbing headache. The headache gave me something else to worry about other than the indecisive thoughts that circled my conscience. But when I got out, dried my hair and body, the thoughts returned. I just wanted to dunk my head in a bucket of ice to reduce to the aggravation, just how I had done with my ass.

In order to prevent any more aggravation, I disconnected my telephone for the entire day.

The next day, a Monday, I reconnected my telephone chord to the wall, now expecting work from Eddie or Carlo. But, I got a phone call from someone else; Henry.

"Vito," Henry began. I recognized his dark, gravely voice anywhere. He had a distinguishable voice anyone could recognize from afar. And for some reason, I was relieved to hear his voice, knowing that he was going to keep me busy today. A job would definitely take my mind off of things.

"Hey, Henry," I greeted, grazing my fingers though my hair.

"I got a job for you, Vito," he began, his voice taking on a serious tone. "But first, I need you to meet up with Eddie and I down at Freddy's Bar, ASAP."

"Will do," I answered, "What's the mission?"

"You'll find out when you get your ass down here to the bar," Henry replied. "I'll be waiting."

"Will do," I replied, but Henry hung up before I finished my sentence. Due to Henry's shortness, I knew it must have been something serious, and I shouldn't be fucking around right now. Business was business, and this certain business is crucial.

I got dressed in my usual attire and headed out the door. I chose my Jefferson, the first (stolen) car I've ever owned, for good old time's sake, and drove off to Freddy's Bar.

Upon arrival, I parallel-parked my car between Eddie's and Henry's cars. I walked inside and strode past the bar and to the top floor where most of the meetings took place.

There, at our usual table, Henry and Eddie sat across from one another, smoking their cigarettes and drinking their wine. I approached them, and the two glanced over at me.

"Hello, Vito," Henry greeted in his usual dark tone. "Have a seat."

I did as I was told and sat next to Eddie. He was the less formidable one of the group, despite being older and more in-charge than Henry.

"So, what's the job?" I asked, beginning to thoroughly anticipate what the task was at hand.

"We've gotta wait for Joey-boy to lug his fat ass over here," Eddie remarked, taking a sip of his wine.

Joey-boy. That nickname for Joe sent shivers up my spine and into other places that I didn't want. I sure hope to God I wouldn't get a hard-on during a meeting. What made it worse was knowing that Joe was coming to the meeting. Just what I needed; a reminder of all the shit that happened over the weekend. Thanks a lot, Eddie.

"Why's Joe comin' along?" I asked Henry. I know it sounded cold, but I needed to ask.

"Joe's comin', cause we're gonna need his charm," Henry replied. "You know him. He's got a way with words."

"You can say that again," I mumbled out of context. Henry shot a glance at me as I looked away, raising an eyebrow.

"What was that, Vito?" he asked.

"Nothing, just… talkin' shit, is all…" I replied with a shrug.

Just then, I heard heavy footsteps in the distance marching rhythmically up the stairs. Soon, Joe approached our table, that big, dumb cheesy grin on his face per usual.

"Hey, fellas!" he greeted. "Did I miss anything?"

"Not a damn thing," Henry replied. "Take a seat."

"I'm way ahead of ya," Joe replied as he slid into the both next to Henry.

I refused to greet Joe, let alone make eye-contact with him, which was unusual, and Henry picked up on it real fast. He didn't begin talking right away, but instead, glancd back and forth between Joe and I. I knew what Henry was thinking; why Joe and I weren't making eye-contact or talking about the usual best friend bullshit.

Best friends… I honestly don't know if I can validate that expression anymore. What were we now? Fuck-buddies?

Nevertheless, Henry cleared his throat to end the silence at the table. It was time to get down to business.

He leaned in and spoke with that dark, gravelly voice of his. "Now listen, fellas. This is an important mission, here. You don't wanna fuck this up, got it?"

Joe and I nodded, for the exception of Eddie, who was sitting next to me with a sly grin on his face. What the hell was he smiling about? It was obvious that he must have known something was up.

"What's our mission?" Joe asked, clearly anticipating the answer.

"I can't tell you _here_," Henry answered. "Too many witnesses."

"Then why the fuck're we here?" Joe asked.

"'Cause I had to have a place to round us up at before leaving," Henry explained, "Get your head outta your ass. Anyways, I can't tell you until we're at the location. This'll be where we'll begin our mission, and I'll provide further instructions there. Got it?"

Joe and I nodded in response. Eddie, on the other hand, was still grinning stupidly. This asshole obviously knew something, since he never acted this way at meetings, especially if Henry was hosting them.

"We're all gonna ride in the same car," Henry began, "Eddie will be driving. Joe, Vito, you both will be in the back seat."

Hey, at least I didn't have to drive for once. Although, I was hesitant in trusting Eddie behind the wheel. He had more than enough of his fair share of alcohol at the bar.

Once we were in the car, I sat against the window and peered out the glass, focusing on other matters. Joe sat next to me, and I didn't even need to look to know, since I felt his burning presence. Eddie sat at the wheel and Henry in the passenger seat.

On the first part of the drive, I didn't say a single word. Eddie and Joe talked up a storm, Henry jumping in a few times. They talked for a good while, until they noticed I hadn't said a word.

"Vito, are you even alive back there?" Eddie asked, giving me a short glance through the rear-view mirror.

"Huh? Y-Yeah," I answered. "I'm just thinkin' about the mission."

"It's gonna be a shit load'a fun, Vito," Eddie chimed. He wasn't normally this charismatic about missions, unless it involved drinking or broads.

Henry gave him a discreet nudge. Yeah, something was up.

"Oh shit," Joe began, "I left my piece at home. Do any of you fellas have a spare?"

"We don't need a piece for _this_ mission," Eddie laughed. Henry sighed before pinching the area between his eyebrows, much how he always did when he was annoyed.

"What kinda fuckin' mission doesn't require a piece?" Joe asked, clearly bewildered.

"Let's just shut the fuck up about it for now," Henry replied, shutting up everyone in the car. Eddie, on the other hand, still cracked a grin, keeping his eyes glued to the road. His smile was beginning to piss me off. He had that sort of grin that made your knuckles twitch whenever he flashed it. Eddie's grin was one of those snarky, half-assed grins with the one cocked eyebrow. I couldn't help but clench my fists in my pockets when he grinned.

Once more, Joe sparked up yet another conversation, but I tuned his voice out by listening to the radio station and peering out the window. Normally, I was the one driving, so I never had a chance to notice how the street signs, buildings and people zipped by, as if we weren't the ones moving, but the world was. It made me wonder.

Just when I really became pensive, Henry's voice broke through my subconscious.

"Vito, wake up. We're here." he began. I blinked before turning my attention to the window. We were in a familiar neighborhood, one lit up by extravagant billboards, and it wasn't even nighttime yet.

Hesitantly, I got out of the car, securely closing the door behind me. Before me, I noticed Eddie standing before a brightly lit building, Henry and Joe by his side. That's when I knew; we were at a cat-house.

"What the fuck're we doin' here?" I asked.

"Who cares?" Joe exclaimed, clapping his hands over my cheeks and shaking my head. "It's a fuckin' cat-house, Vito!" His eyes were lit with pure excitement, like a kid opening their presents on Christmas morning. I had no idea why Joe was always do excited about going to a cat-house when he practically had hookers in his apartment every day. This man's mind made no god damn sense. First, he had hookers in his home, he fucks _me_, then he's all about shagging every girl in the cat-house.

"Say, Henry," I began, pushing Joe out of the way. "What're we here for?" I'm sure we were here for a more important reason than to sleep around with women.

Henry crossed his arms, glancing at me before turning his gaze to Eddie. "You tell 'em." he ordered.

Eddie grinned that stupid fucking grin before declaring, "Henry's treating us to a night in the cat-house!"

Henry spoke up. "Eddie's right. Since you guys have been kicking ass lately, I thought 'why not'? A week's worth of hard work deserves a night of good-looking women and some booze."

Well, fuck me sideways.

"I _told_ you, Vito!" Joe teased. Just as Henry and Eddie made their way nonchalantly into the cat-house, Joe grabbed my arm and lead me inside by force.

"I know you're excited, but could you calm the fuck down?" I asked, nearly tripping over my own feet as Joe lead me through the doors and into the lobby where we checked in. God, I felt like a rag doll, being tossed about by his dominant force. For an unknown reason, I didn't physically resist, which I normally would have done in any given situation. Maybe if he was dragging me anywhere but to a cat-house, I'd protest. But, I wasn't exactly excited about going to the cat-house. I didn't feel like I really deserved it. This was kind of a big treat. On top of that, Joe's dominance kind of, well, pleased me.

I had to get my mind out of the shitter. I was about to score tonight, and I don't need any hesitant thoughts getting in the way of that. As we walked into the cat-house, I looked around at each and every one of the broads, wondering who I'd score with. There was a wide variety of girls; tall, skinny, short, curvy. I admired them all, and keep my eyes glued to just _one_. But the one person in the whole room that my eyes locked onto several times was Joe.

We were then escorted to a large booth in front of a wide table. Eddie sat at the far end, knowing he would be getting head. There was no way he was sitting near the rest of the group if he was going to be blowing loads. Henry sat in the middle, Joe next to him, and I sat on the other end. And in the spaces between all of us sat obnoxiously beautiful women. That one redhead sat between Joe and I. Then, I remembered that she was the one who was there when Joe and I got it on. Did she remember?

She sat against the back of the sofa, one arm extended around Joe's shoulders, and one around mine. Just catching a glimpse of her, getting a whiff of her perfume, a small detail in my memory finally came into focus. I remembered, just as Joe and I finished, we noticed she and her friend had left. Did she leave before we were done? Or did they leave before we even began? Either way, she saw things not meant to be seen.

She didn't seem to treat Joe or myself any differently, which I supposed was a good thing. Whatever she knew, I didn't want to be reminded of at the moment. I just wanted to enjoy the night, since this was a treat I'd probably not get for a while. This was particularly sweet of Henry to do, something unexpected for a guy like him. So, I wouldn't expect anything more like this for a long time.

Eddie and Henry seemed to be having a good time. From afar, I could see one of the broads lowering her head into Eddie's lap, his hand grasping her ponytail. Immediately, when I knew what was about to happen, I looked away. There were a lot of things I could live without seeing, and one of them is Eddie Scarpa receiving head from a hooker.

Henry was making small talk with the girl next to him. They exchanged a cigarette back and forth, as well as seductive glances. Nothing major. Joe, on the other hand, was whistling at the broad dancing on the table before us. He paid no attention to the redhead that sat between him and myself. She must have picked up on it, since she began tending to my hair by combing her thin fingers through each wave in my scalp. Slowly, she turned her back to Joe and crossed her legs over my lap. I started to smell her perfume much clearly, along with the aroma of booze and tobacco. I glanced up and down her body, my eyes taking in every curve and crevasse. I ran my hand along her back, tracing her spine through her lacy lingerie. While keeping her one hand busy with my hair, she brought her other to my chest and began running it along my pectorals and abdomen. I brought my other hand to her leg, running it up and down, my hand gliding along her smooth, pasty thigh. Our lips soon connected in a kiss. To her, it may have been natural, considering she's probably done this countless times. On the other hand, the kiss felt stiff and unnatural. I've kissed, as well as slept with, my fair share of women, so why was this a laboring task to me?

She glided her hand from my chest to my neck, those sharp nails grazing my chin and jaw line. She broke the kiss, giving me a chance to breathe, leaned in, then whispered something into my ear.

"You and Joey put on one helluva show the other night," she murmured with a grin. With those words, I felt that familiar, unbearable, stinging heat return to my cheeks. She obviously remembered, and was going to hold it over my head until the end of my life. I guess I'd might as well play it cool while I could.

I guess she could tell I was embarrassed, since she tipped my chin up and gave a sly smirk. "Don't worry. I won't tell a soul." I avoided her glance, since she could probably read through me. Some days, I wished I was more difficult to read though; lacking emotions with a steady poker face.

"You'd better not," I grumbled, "because I know where you live. Joe has your address taped to his refrigerator." Wow, what a lame fucking threat.

The broad gave a sly smirk before sliding onto my lap, her knees pressed against the cushion of the booth. I wrapped my arms around her small waist, raising my head as her lips made contact with mine. I tried to tune out of everything around me, focusing on the vixen sitting on my lap. Her lips were soft, I mean_ really_ soft. And her body, my god. I only got to take her in from afar, but now I got a chance with her. I know she's Joe's girl, but he's got a ton of girls wrapped around his finger, so he wouldn't mind me snatching one of them up for the night.

Only, I couldn't focus on the broad in my lap, when all I could hear was Joe sitting next to me, laughing, while hitting it off with two other broads. This sent a burning sensation throughout my body, not of arousal, but some kind of irreparable anger.

I was annoyed by the fact that Joe was having such a dandy fucking time, laughing with two other women, as if the nights with him and I never happened. What was I to him now? Just another one of his whores who he could just hit and ditch?

Above all, why was I getting so offended? We were here for a fun time with some fine ass ladies. What in the world was I getting so worked up for? Suddenly, I couldn't find myself to enjoy this anymore. I wasn't having a single ounce of fun, and it was all because of Joe.

The next thing I knew, in the midst of kissing the woman on my lap, I could only imagine myself sitting on Joe's lap, being the one he was kissing and pleasuring. What if that had been me? The taste of his cigarette and booze-tainted breath lingered in the back of my throat, my stomach set ablaze with the warmth of the brandy he and I consumed on that accidental night. The phantom taste of these things only meant that I was craving something. It wasn't the booze, the cigarettes, or the brandy that I was craving.

I craved Joe.

This was an absolute shipwreck. I needed to get myself out of this funk. Maybe... if I just work myself up enough to have sex with this broad tonight, everything... all the bullshit, the memories, the conflicting emotions, all of it would just wash away.

In the moment all this was happening, the broad pulled away from me. That's when I realized I was tense as hell. My muscles had locked up out of irritation, my lips firm, jaw locked out of disgust; she knew, and I could see it by the look on her face.

"What's wrong, Vito?" she asked, grazing her fingertips along my cheek. "Somethin' botherin' you?'

I looked into her eyes. In that moment, I noticed all the makeup she was wearing, all the mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, blush. I was hit with a sudden wave of nausea. She wasn't real. This wasn't real. I looked around, taking a look at all the other hookers in the room. All of them looked the same; lingerie, heavy amounts of makeup, hair pinned up, heels they could barely balance in. They were all the same. What the fuck did people find in them that was so sexy? And the sex... they only did it for money. Did anyone think that these girls actually liked or appreciated them after getting in their pants? Did anyone think that a single buck given after a steamy night would make it all worthwhile in the long run? At least Joe was real. At least our friendship was real. At least on those nights we fucked, neither of us felt the need to wear gratuitous amounts of makeup, perfume or lingerie. Sure, it was messy, but it was real. And with Joe, those were painstakingly the best orgasms I'd ever achieved.

"I can't... I can't do this..." I murmured. The broad went from her usual calm expression to downright offended.

"Whaddaya mean, Vito?" she asked, pulling further away. Wow, I really fucked up.

"I'm just not in the mood tonight... for any of this... I'm sorry."

With that, she began to undo her corset, thinking she would suddenly change my mind if she flashed me her chest. Knowing her intentions, I gingerly caressed her hands, stopping her.

"No, don't," I sighed, "don't trouble yourself. It's got nothing to do with you. It's me."

Her face contorted into that of complete offense. She crossed her arms and stuck out her jaw into a haughty pout. I shook my head, shutting my eyes. I felt utter shame was over me. This was a complete embarrassment, mostly for me, but probably for her too.

"Look, I'm really sorry," I began, my voice hushed. She still sat upon my lap, but her weight began to feel like a burden. I wanted to peel her off, getting a chance to breathe, which I couldn't exactly do when she was this close to me, her perfume forming a heavy cloud around the both of us.

"You and Joe..." she began. Shit. I knew exactly what she was going to say, so I braced myself. "I knew it. When I saw the both of you shag that night, I could see it. Even through the alcohol, I could see something between you two on that sofa."

Her voice went from its usual seductive tone to serious, and it was beginning to scare me. But she was making a point, and with that, I continued to listen.

She continued. "What I witnessed was an abomination. Of course, who am I to talk? My whole career is an abomination. I sleep around for money, not just with your friend, but with other people included. But, through it all, I saw something spark between you and your friend. It was the kind of sex I wouldn't have... there was something more, something a couple of lovebirds could have, even if you two are both men. Even if it is an abomination."

The word 'abomination' struck me like a lightning bolt to the heart. I knew that two men fucking, especially in our society, was an abomination, but I couldn't help but feel slightly offended. But, there was another word she said that drew my attention; lovebirds. Was she implying, that somehow, through mine and Joe's one night stand, that somehow there was something, well... _there_? What was _there_ exactly?

"What are you tryin' to say?" I asked, my voice more hushed with fear than anticipation.

"I can't speak for your friend," she added, "but I can tell from you, your body language, your voice... you—"

Her voice was interrupted by the sound of girls screaming, followed by the sound of rapid gunfire. My gaze shot to the side, and through the misty haze of cigarette smoke, I saw a pack of greasers with automatic weapons, one of them, the leader, holding a broad in a choke hold. His gang members all pointed guns at everyone, only the leader pointing his gun at the broad's head.

"Give us _everything_ you've got!" he announced, "Give us _all_ the booze and _all _the cash, or else this little beauty gets her brains splattered all over the fuckin' walls!" The broad was gasping for air within the tight choke hold, tears streaming down her face from fear and pain.

"Holy shit!" the redhead shrieked. Hurriedly, I pulled her from my lap and.

"Quick, hide under the table," I instructed, "We'll take care of this!"

I pulled a pistol from my jacket, one I packed just in case, and hid behind the table. Henry, Eddie and Joe sprang into action, taking out their automatic weapons. I knew they'd all bring a piece anyway, cathouse or not.

Bullets began to fly, girls began to scream, and soon I was once again in the line of fire. We hid behind obstacles and fired at the greasers, who were doing the same to us. The leader held tightly onto the broad while shooting his pistol at me. I ducked behind the table, avoiding his bullets, and when he stopped to retrieve another clip, I sprang out from behind the table and shot him directly between the eyes. With my lucky shot, the asshole collapsed to the ground, and the broad was free. Shrieking and crying, she sprinted towards the stage, which served to have a panic room behind it.

In the middle of it all, Joe ran out of bullets. Rushing towards me, out of breath, he crouched behind the table.

"Vito!" he panted, "I'm all out of bullets."

"I can't help you," I began, "This is my last clip!"

"Fuck!" Without thinking, Joe grabbed the nearest bottle of liquor and chucked it at one of the greasers, who were hiding behind a table. Seeing the bottle flying towards him, the greaser ducked, and the bottle smashed against a wall outlet.

"Joe, you fuck!" I shouted. Just then, the outlet sparked, causing a small fire to ignite by the wall. The smoke rose up to the ceiling, and soon, the ceiling sprinklers were set off, and everyone and everything was drenched.

"Shit!" one of the greasers exclaimed, "They set off the fuckin' sprinklers!"

"I can't see a fuckin' thing!" another one of them added. Lucky for us, we were in the smoking section of the room, where no sprinklers were present. With that, we proceeded to shoot the panicked greasers one by one with no mistakes. Once they were all dead, we stood up, the sprinklers still going. The small fire was no longer present, but now there were dead bodies laying all around. Looking around, I noticed there weren't any hookers present in the room, except for the fearless redhead hiding under the table.

Quickly, I took her hand and helped her up. "You alright?" I asked, holstering my gun.

"Yeah, I'm fine..." she sighed. "Ow..." Suddenly, she doubled over, grasping her thigh. I looked down and saw a stream of blood drizzling down her leg from under her hand. She had gotten shot by one of the greasers.

"Fuck," I began, "We gotta take you to El Greco."

"Who's that...?" she asked as I helped steady her by pulling her arm around my shoulders, my other arm supporting her waist.

"He's a special doctor who treats bullet wounds," I answered while steadily walking her to do the back door, just to avoid the sprinklers and other dead bodies.

"Why can't you take me to the hospital?" she asked, sounding more exhausted than in pain.

"If we take you to a hospital," I explained, "and they find a bullet in your leg, the first thing they'll do is call the cops, and in our line of work, that's not gonna fly."

She stayed silent as Henry proceeded to open the door for the hooker and I. "What happened?" he asked.

"She got shot," I answered, "we're taking her to El Greco."

Henry took a glance at her leg and noticed the rather large wound. He furrowed his eyebrows and sighed. "Yeah, that's a must." It's as if he suddenly remembered being in the same position; having a bullet in his leg and bleeding profusely in all his helplessness.

"Alright, help her into the car," Henry instructed upon closing the door behind him and I. "I'll drive. Eddie's piss drunk, per usual."

"Heh, I'd expect it from him," I chuckled.

After making it to El Greco's, he took a good look at her leg. I think he was pleased that I dropped her off, considering he never received female patients. There were never any women involved in the mafia, so this particular case surprised him. I told El Greco to treat her kindly, since getting shot on the job was never fun, even Henry knew.

Before we left, I had a short conversation with her. She was laying on a sofa, so I crouched down to her level. "So, uh... I never caught your name before. I usually just refer to you as 'Joe's girl'."

The broad, clearly woozy from the pain medicine given to her, leaned in to whisper in my ear. "Camilla," she answered.

"Camilla," I repeated, "You sure do look like a Camilla."

Grinning, I could see the pain medication beginning to set in. She was such a kind woman, which made me wonder why she ever thought about getting into the prostitution business. She was a gorgeous young woman, and in this moment, with her makeup smudged off, I could see her natural beauty.

"Before you go," she began, leaning back in to whisper to me.

"Yeah?" I asked, being patient with her, even though the others were in a hurry to leave.

Her lips softly made contact with mine, causing a small tingle to spread along my cartilage. "_You're_ Joe's girl, now."

I knew what she was talking about, and I gulped. I felt a massive blush creep onto my cheeks and neck, signifying that I needed to get the hell out of there.

"We'll, I'd better get going, now," I coughed, lifting myself up and turning my back.

When I returned to the car, I slid into the backseat and sat as far from Eddie as possible. He was belching, and reeked of piss, vomit, cigarettes and hookers' perfume. At least I didn't sit next to Joe. That would spare me a whole ton of humiliation.

Upon the whole car ride to Eddie's place, whom was getting dropped off first due to his intoxication, I played back everything Camilla had said. Even through her seduction, she was a wise woman. Of course, wisdom wasn't something that attracted too many men on the job. Once more, I wondered why she was a prostitute, and not something more. Regardless, what she told me made me think about myself, and not just the conflict between Joe and I, but she made me think about myself as a person, and who I really was. Who was I, now? Not to Joe, not to Henry, not to Eddie, not to the family, but to myself?

Rain began to sprinkle from the sky, and onto the car windows. Henry turned on the windshield wipers, and Eddie yawned loudly next to me. Joe even turned on the radio to the Delta Station, where Slamming Sammy began to talk about the latest massacres around Empire Bay. I could almost feel my concentration slipping away from the slightest noises surrounding me.

I lifted my fingertips to the window, and begun tracing each and every raindrop trail that drizzled down the smooth glass. With every trickle, it brought more contemplation to my mind. Who was I? And how did not one, but _two_ one-night stands with Joe bring me to this sudden realization? How can pleasure bring me so much confusion? There were so many unanswered questions, it would be best if I could just sleep it off tonight.

Soon, the car stopped, and Henry stepped out to help Eddie out of the backseat and into his apartment. Once again, I was left alone in the car with Joe. The only noise in the car was the radio, which crackled and popped through the speakers. I could even hear Joe's breathing from the front seat. I was now at a crossroad; would I leave the car and walk home, maybe high-jack another car, or would I sit in the car and make small talk with Joe?

"Say, Vito," he began. Thank god he was the first person to say something. "Fun night, huh?"

"Yeah, sure..." I answered. In all honesty, I had absolutely no fun at all. There were too many things on my mind, and they all involved Joe.

"You sound like you've got a lot on your mind," Joe began.

"No shit, Sherlock," I replied rather coldly.

"Hey, what's the matter with you?" he asked, sporting a rather humorous tone, the tone I didn't want to hear. "Besides the greasers, we got to kick it with some snazzy broads. I scored big, and I'm sure you did, too."

"I didn't, if you're so inclined to know," I answered with a dim tone.

"Are you just pissy 'cause the greasers cock-blocked ya?" Joe asked.

"NO," I answered sharply, "Now would you just shut the fuck up, please?"

Joe sat silent, which made me feel bad for snapping at him. I mean, I felt _really_ bad. It was only when we were in times of distress where I'd snap at him, but it was only me who was in distress, and Joe was simply trying to lighten the mood.

"Joe," I sighed, "Look, I'm sorry..."

"I understand, Vito," he began, his voice now taking on the same coldness as mine.

"What is it that you understand?" I asked impatiently.

"It's about us, ain't it?" Joe asked. Now, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Here we were, about to have an earth-splitting conversation, and we weren't even talking face-to-face. He was sitting in front of me, his back turned, making us both look like a couple of morons.

"I'd rather talk about this while out of the car," I answered, opening the door to escape. I needed air. Soon after, Joe stepped out of the passenger seat and approached me. I crossed my arms, feeling small in his presence.

"It is about us," I finally answered, "but, it's more about me than it is about us."

"Tell me more," Joe ushered, his voice low, almost threatening.

I inhaled before continuing. "Those two times we... you know... it's all made me realize something about myself. I know it's too soon to make inferences, but..."

I suddenly couldn't find the words to carry on, since I could feel Joe's anticipated eyes burning a hole in me. The one place I felt a hole form was in my heart. Another hole formed in my mind, a void of unrelenting emptiness and confusion. I have still yet to figure out where the one in my heart is coming from.

"You're my best friend, Joe," I began, "I know you know that already. But, where are we now? What do _you_ see me as?"

"Vito," Joe started, "We just _fucked_. Why're you making such a big fuss outta all this?"

His words struck me in the heart, much like the word 'abomination'. I shot a glance at him, my eyes saddened with his words.

"Joe, what... I don't understand, alright?" I answered. "This whole thing between you and I, our friendship, the sex we had. Look, there's gotta be _something_ behind all of it. If there isn't, then _why_ did we do it a second time in my bed? If there isn't anything behind it all, don't you think that after the first time, we'd stop and act like it never happened? Sure, the first time wasn't that big of a deal, but... it was the second time where we were both sober, you brought over the condom, we talked afterwards. There's something _there_, Joe. I know it. And you know it, too."

"Vito—"

"Joe, I need an answer," I began, "I need to know; do you, or do you _not_ feel something too? I already gave you my answer, but I need yours right now."

"Or else what?" he asked.

I gave a long, disgusted sigh, "...or else, I can't go on with this anymore. More specifically with _you._" I hated myself for saying that, but it needed to be said.

"So, you're saying you'd cut me off if I said no?" Joe asked, clearly angered, "Is that what's happening?!"

"No!" I exclaimed. "It's not yes or no; it's whether or not you answer the fuckin' question!"

We stood silent for moments, which went on like years. We looked each other straight in the eye, no breaks. Again, I was at another crossroad. I showed him how fearless I was in this entire situation. Not fearless in letting him go, but fearless in making him stay.

"Fine," he started quietly, "I'll give you an answer."

"And the answer is...?"

"...I'm gonna sleep on it."

Well, this was a real slap in the face.

"So, when will you give me the answer?" I asked.

"Tomorrow," Joe answered, "at this exact time. I just need a night to think is all. I'm still shaken up by the shooting at the cathouse."

"_Shaken up_," I mocked, "R_iiii_ght." I turned my back and began to walk off in the light rain.

"Where you goin'?" I heard Joe call from a distance.

"I'm gonna go high jack a car," I answered, "Gonna drive myself home. It's clear that we can't be around each other for the rest of the night."

"Reasonable," he answered. I walked off, and in the distance, I could hear Henry and Joe hopping back in my car and driving off in the opposite direction.

In all honesty, I didn't high jack a car on my way home. I walked the entire way. It was getting dark out, but that worried me the least. The rain poured heavier, but that meant nothing. I had a much better time thinking when I was walking. I didn't drive well when I had a lot on my mind. It had been only two days, and I already felt my sanity crumbling. A good night's sleep would do me some good, hopefully.

I finally made it hope, but by the time I did, I was already soaking wet. Mine and Joe's conversation kept spiraling around in my head, causing the hole in my heart to grow. Where did this pain even come from? Maybe it was the fact that Joe was my best friend, and hearing him say such cold things caused pain to arise within me. The only thing there was to do was to be patient and wait for him to come up with an answer.

That night, I took another cold shower. It wasn't cold enough. I needed something physically painful to conceal the internal pain. Nothing helped. Now I was freezing my ass off along with troubling thoughts. I wanted to hit something, something really hard. I wanted my knuckles to bleed, my skin to peel. I felt like this was all my fault. Why did I have to go there? Now, I was putting mine and Joe's friendship in jeopardy.

No, it was the sex. I was warned long ago by my mom, that when I met someone and fell in love, not to step on a growing bond my throwing sex into the mix. It confused and complicated everything. Jee, I should have taken her advice while she was still alive.

There was the thing; love. When I met someone and fell _in love_ with them, not to let sex complicate things. Did this mean...?

Then, I remembered Camilla's words.

_"I can't speak for your friend, but I can tell from you, your body language, your voice... you—"_

She couldn't finish when the greasers came in and shook up the place. But, she said something in regards to me. She could tell I was _something_. What was I? Was this the hidden key to finding out who or what I really was?

"What am I?"

I slipped into my pajamas and proceeded to go to bed. I would sure as hell have a hard time sleeping that night, but I'd sure as hell try. I wasn't going to let this boggle my precious sleep. Shutting my eyes, I didn't drift off right away. The bed I laid in felt off, like I was missing something, or the presence of someone.


End file.
